I Can't Live In A World Without Light
by VampireHunterDragoon
Summary: A simple love story in which there is much gratuitous violence, excessive gore, unnecessary blood, and the beginning of the Apocalypse. Kira is rising!
1. Prologue

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

**PROLOGUE:**

**GOLDEN SLUMBERS FILL YOUR EYES  
**

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Death Note, then why would I be writing this fanfic?

**Notes: **Throughout I Can't Live in a World without Light, there will be quotes inserted amongst the prose. These quotes are not directly related to the story, but they do share the common theme of the dark side of love. I think you could turn this into a game if you'd like, what with trying to see if you've come across these quotes before or if you're familiar with their sources. Thankfully, they're not necessary to understand the story, so feel free to skip them if they don't do anything for you. Lastly, I don't want to distract you from the story itself, so I'll provide a brief list of sources at the end of each chapter. For the sake of convenience, I've italicized the aforementioned quotes and only those quotes.

* * *

Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,  
Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,  
Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover,  
Sleeping at last.

-Christina Rossetti

Destiny walked in his garden, head bowed and hidden via his robe and hood, staring into the pages of the massive book chained to his right hand. Destiny, a pale, emaciated, tall, and blind man, had been doing this for a very long time; since the beginning of all existence, as a matter of fact. The few that personally know Destiny sometimes misunderstood his nature. Destiny was not destiny incarnate, nor was he the symbol of destiny. The truth was much more simple: he was Destiny, all that had happened before, all that is happening now, and all that will happen.

Destiny's garden was very peaceful and beautiful, and he rarely left it. The rest of his siblings seemed to be fond of visiting places other than their own domains, but Destiny found everything but his garden to be noisy, chaotic, and cruel. As a blind man, it was terribly important for Destiny to hear the serene sounds of birds singing and water gurgling in the rivers. Everything else promised screams of anger, the tearing of flesh, and the deafening rupture of bombs. This especially applied to Earth, a planet currently hijacked by a boy foolish enough to fancy himself a god. The child had obviously not met any true gods before; Destiny was sure that the boy would not continue to act so proudly if he met the deities that brother Dream had become so well acquainted with.

As Destiny passed a fountain, he stopped and suddenly studied his latest page with unusual intensity. Little surprised Destiny, a being who had become largely inured to much of the destruction and pain caused throughout the eons. Destiny allowed his lips to form a small smile, and this too was rare. Almost nothing brought Destiny joy, but the future written here did. This Light Yagami certainly deserved what was coming, and it was one of the most hilarious cruel ironies that he had ever heard of. Intrigued, Destiny continued to walk and read.

About ten meters later, Destiny stopped once more. The smile had been completely fallen off his face. If happiness was rare for Destiny, then so too was sorrow. But Destiny felt sorrow this time, not a great deal mind you, but more than he could recently remember feeling. There was his sorrow when he learned that millions of innocents would be tortured and murdered due to a fascist regime led by an unstable psychopath. There was the sorrow when he learned that the Nazarene would be crucified for nothing more than telling men and women to love each other. Destiny had even shed an incredibly uncommon tear when he had learned that humanity had gained the means to destroy itself.

Destiny experienced a rare surge of sorrow, not because of the fate of Light Yagami but because what would challenge him would be far, far worse.

Destiny stared back up from his book and continued to walk. For now, he would take a break from reading despite how unusual that was for him. Earth had changed much in the past years, but it was about to undergo an unprecedented and drastic transformation. Seas would rise, cities would collapse, nations would burn, and a single human would stand within that Heart of Darkness, the Beast of the Apocalypse.

Ironic. The demon known as Hellboy had refused his destiny to initiate Armageddon and had pledged himself to fight for Earth. This other human also pledged to act as Earth's savior but in the process, he would destroy it.

_Who are you?_

…_Anung Un Rama._

_Pish posh, boy. That's just a name. The question is, who are you?_

Destiny continued to walk. For the second time in his life, he was afraid to see what the next pages would reveal.

* * *

Light Yagami rarely dreams. We humans think millions of thoughts a day; Light thinks billions of them. His mind is young and strong, yet it regularly takes the kind of beating that an ordinary person would receive after studying for hours without rest. His room is somewhat of a sanctuary, a buffer between him and the rest of the world, but it is not perfect. People knock on his door, his phone rings, his alarm clock blares, and Ryuk rarely shuts the hell up.

Sleep is the best means of escape that Light knows of. Because he thinks so much during the day, his consciousness lacks the energy to turn the fragments of his memory into surreal movies. Instead, Light often falls into an infinite abyss, and for six to eight hours he is not Light Yagami nor is he Kira. He is nothing, a baby never born, a story never written, a song never sung. As an ambitious, megalomaniacal young man, he would never admit it and he would lie if ever faced with the truth. But it is undeniably true.

Light likes to sleep, and he likes to not exist.

The night that Light fell into nothingness was no different than all the others.

But the results were unlike any that he could imagine.

_Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another._

* * *

WORKS CITED:

Hellboy (Graphic Novel/Movie)

The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes (Short Stories)


	2. Chapter I: Basic Instinct

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

**CHAPTER I****: **

**CRAZY LITTLE THING CALLED LOVE**

**FOR CLIVE BARKER**

Out of all the Books of Blood, you're one of my favorites.

It's almost time to play/ It's time to be afraid  
I can't control the pain/ I can't control in vain  
Oh God, I'm ready now/ You're almost ready now  
I'm gonna love you now/ I'm gonna put you down  
I see you in the dark/ I see you all the way  
I see you in the light/ I see you plain as day  
I wanna touch your face/ I wanna touch your soul  
I wanna wear your face/ I wanna burn your soul

--Slipknot

Wherefore I say unto thee, her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much.

--Luke 7:47

* * *

Black.

Pitch black.

It was all that Light Yagami could see when he regained consciousness. He was not scared though; he was not yet fully synchronized with his perception, and his vision gradually returned along with his mentality.

His reawakening was a tedious process. It took several minutes, maybe even half an hour, for the cobwebs to clear from his head, and as they disappeared he became aware of a dull, throbbing pain at the back of his skull.

The first thing that he realized after gaining consciousness was that he was strapped to a chair. Good, strong rope covered his chest and arms, and another held his legs together. The chair that he was tied to was sturdy but comfortable enough. Light looked down at one of the chair's arms and was surprised to see a worn, yet elegant floral pattern embroidered on it. Either this was the only chair available, or someone intentionally made an effort to keep him at ease.

Light tried rocking the chair a bit; there was no give. He cursed under his breath at this, but he was not surprised.

He needed to figure out where he was. A survey of his surroundings did not result in much. Wherever he was, it was dark, it was dirty, and it had all the charm of a Spanish Inquisition torture chamber. From the pipes, machinery, inactive furnace, and sounds of dripping water, Light conjectured that he was in some kind of basement or boiler room.

Wow, that really narrowed his options, didn't it? For all he knew, he could have been across the planet, abducted by-

Abducted by who?

That was the real riddle, wasn't it? Light didn't believe that someone had just kidnapped him for the sick thrill of it. Was he prestigious? Yes, but for all of Light's brilliance, he was not well-known outside of his home. But that was OK because that was the way he wanted it. The lower his profile, the more tenuous his link to Kira.

Kira. This was the reason that he was here, wasn't it? Someone, God knows who, had figured it all out and had taken Light out of commission. But who? And why? What was the point of the kidnapping? Why wasn't he just killed so that the reign of Kira would end once and for all?

His mind leapt to L, that creepy, gaunt prick. Was this his doing? Light wouldn't be surprised if it was. L hated and envied Light; he would have done anything to shove his rival out of the way, wouldn't he?

No. That didn't make sense. If L really wanted Light gone, he would have killed him someway. Why would he keep him alive?

CIA. Abu Ghraib. Brutal, illegal interrogation. So that's what the bastard was after! Light gritted his teeth. L just wouldn't stop, would he? He just wouldn't leave Light alone! That bulimic loser was so desperate for a victory that he was going to torture the truth out of him!

No. No. That didn't cut it. The L hypothesis was probable, but at this point it was just speculation. He needed something more concrete. He needed evidence and details to build together a strategy that would-

No. A light now. A light in the shape of a door.

Darkness again. But something even darker than that, a figure moving towards Light, stopping in front of Light, staring at Light.

Light clicked his tongue and swallowed something large and sour that tasted of fear.

The figure reached its hand up, pulled a chain whose outline was so thin that it could hardly be seen, and light, enough to reveal the figure but not enough to brighten the entire room, poured forth.

Light blinked and something new but equally undesirable replaced his fear. Shock, anger, and confusion roared into the empty niches once occupied by anxious, uncertain terror.

Misa.

_God I love you. _

Misa was in front of him, hands held behind her back, rocking on her feet in an irritatingly juvenile way, with an appearance of guilt, bashfulness, mischievousness.

_Eat it till ya choke, you sick, twisted fuck!_

"Hi, Light…" Misa said as if everything was normal and no Light was not tied to a chair in a place that he did not recognize and no he was not very, very angry. That kind of voice.

So much to say. So much to scream and roar and threaten. Instead, Light decided to start small.

"Misa, what is all this?" he asked, restraining his indignation with the self-control and manipulation it had taken him years to achieve.

"Well…" Misa drawled in a voice that was intended to be cute and not annoying as fuck-all "Does Light remember how long and how hard he had been working back home?"

"Yes…" Light replied.

"And does Light remember how he kept telling Misa that he would take a break soon and finally take a vacation with her?"

Light remembered resisting the temptation to write the dumb bitch's name in his book. "Yes…" he said again.

"Well" Misa said as innocently as she could "Misa got tired of waiting, so Misa decided to act a little, um, what's the word…assertive! Yeah!"

Something large dropped into Light's stomach when he heard these words. He suspected that it was his heart.

"Misa" he half-asked, half-seethed "what did you do?"

Misa looked apprehensive now. "Well" Misa said, now putting on her cutest face, something that totally failed to charm Light, "Does Light remember the milkshake Misa made for him?"

Light remembered the milkshake. He remembered Misa begging him to drink it even though he told her that he wasn't hungry. He remembered finally giving in to all her pleading and whining if only to shut her the fuck up. He remembered drinking it even though it looked like someone puked in his glass and it tasted like something that not even a stoner would willingly digest. Then… nothing. That was all Light could remember.

"See, the thing is," Misa said "Misa might have put something in there to make Light sleepy."

The taste. The immediate darkness. It all clicked together.

"You… you tranqued me?" Light shouted looking incredulous.

Misa winced at the outburst. "Misa's sorry, Light!" She cried "Misa only did it so that she could spend some more time with her Light!"

Death. Misa would die, by his hands preferably. But for now, he needed to escape.

"Misa," Light said calmly "let me go now and we can forget all about this, OK? We'll go back home and then we'll take a vacation right afterwards, alright? I promise you."

Misa shook her head with a glum look like she already knew that Light was going to use that tired, predictable line. "Misa's sorry, Light," she said "but Light can never stop working when he's home. This is the only way that Light and Misa can spend time together."

"Misa, what about the Death Note?" Light asked. "If I'm tied up here, I won't be able to use it. Don't you think L and the others will become suspicious that I'm gone while Kira is not operating?"

"Misa has that under control!" She said, somehow happy once more. "Misa brought the book along, and she'll work on it while her Light is resting!"

Light hoped that his eye was not starting to twitch.

"But Misa," Light reasoned "you don't know who to kill. You haven't done the proper research. What if you killed someone who was actually good? The reputation of Kira would be tainted."

"Nuh-uh!" Misa chirped, unsusceptible to any thoughts concerning failure or misfortune. "Misa has been doing a lot of research! She's been reading the newspapers and watching the news and she's been going online and she's been doing all sorts of stuff!" Misa rambled. "Misa knows exactly what to do!"

Light was still upset, but he knew that it would be best just to play along for now. That was the thing about Misa: she was probably the most loyal dog that Light had ever come across, yet she was too loyal for her own good. Helpful? Yes. Smart? No (Of course, he liked that because it made things oh so much easier). Obsessive? Undeniably so. When Misa got these stupid, romantic ideas in her head, there was no stopping her. The best thing for Light to do would be to humor her and gradually reassume control over her once more. For now, Light's act as "Light Yagami: Dream Boyfriend" couldn't hurt his chances of buttering his disturbed girlfriend.

"You know what, Misa?" Light said, suddenly cheerful. "You're absolutely right!"

_The Joker doesn't love anybody, except maybe for himself. _

"I…I am?" Misa asked surprised, but with growing confidence and hope.

_No! You're wrong! He loves me! I know he does!_

"You sure are!" Light said with a kind smile, a look that utterly contradicted the boiling, bitter strip of raw hatred brewing under his chest. "This whole… arrangement could work wonders for our relationship!"

"You really think so?" Misa asked, overcome with joy that her Light was praising her discretion and not chastising her like she was afraid he would.

"I know so." Light replied "Misa, I know I haven't been there for you as much as I should have been, but that's all going to change. I love you, Misa. I love you and I trust you and if you think that this is all going to help us become even closer to one another then-"

Misa cut off Light in a fit of passion, leaping onto his lap, passionately smothering him with kisses, frantically wrestling his tongue with her own. As she wrapped her firm legs against him and ran her slender fingers through his fine hair, she reentered the finest place that she had ever known. This was a place that was warm and heavenly, a place where she was safe from all danger. This was where Misa had a fire in her body, a fire that teased her but never hurt her. Misa was well aware that the greatest sensations that she had ever known were to be found in only one place: in the embrace of the most wonderful person to have ever lived, her shining white knight, her purpose for living, her noble god.

Light felt none of these things. There was no pleasure, no joy no self-fulfillment, no confident self-guarantee of safety. There was only a mind cruel and coldly calculating, a machine of neurons and protons whirling away at an extraordinary rate, an entity silently swearing vengeance. There was only the slow, ugly sensation of pure hatred, and this time it was directed at only one person.

L was no longer his worst enemy.

_Of course the only thing that kills the demon... is love._

* * *

WORKS CITED:

"Misery" (Novel/Movie)

"Batman: The Animated Series" (TV Program)

"Natural Born Killers" (Movie)


	3. Chapter II: Let Me Show You

**CHAPTER II:**

**LET ME SHOW YOU WHAT LOVE CAN DO**

I want you  
I want you so bad  
I want you,  
I want you so bad  
It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad

--The Beatles

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

--The Animals

Where love reigns, there is no will to power; and where the will to power is paramount, love is lacking. The one is but the shadow of the other.  
--Carl Jung

* * *

The next few days were uneventful. Or at least, they were as uneventful as several days could be for someone held captive by another person infatuated with them.

Light was playing chess with Misa. The stakes were not high; Light's life was not endangered so long as Misa was devoted to him. And Misa loving Light was something that he could take for granted, just as he took the sun rising every morning and setting every evening for granted. It was what it was, and it is what it is. 2+2=4. A triangle has three sides. You take it for granted because it simply cannot be any other way.

By all accounts, anyone whose sexual preference enabled them to be attracted to Misa Amane would not have minded his or her abduction too much. The knowledge that someone loved you enough (some cynics might phrase that as "someone who is obsessed with you") to hold you against your will would be disconcerting, but the benefits outweighed the drawbacks in this case.

Yes, Light was, in effect, playing chess with Misa, except that Misa didn't know that she was playing chess or she just chose not to know. Misa knew that this was not the most orthodox means of vacationing with a lover, but she also knew that it was the only way. Light had obviously been upset with her before (Oh, and how it had pained her!), but now he was fine. Yes, Misa's Light was brilliant, probably the smartest man on the planet (definitely smarter and more attractive than that pervert Ryuzaki), but Misa had learned that such brilliant men tended to become absorbed in their work, that the scientist became fixated with his theories, that the artist became committed to his art. Sometimes, a woman simply had to take her man back from his work, to grab him by his collar and yank him out of his office so he could eat some dinner with her. These types of men might be able to floor people like Misa with their staggering amounts of intelligence, but in the end it was people like Misa who forced them to experience the true meaning of life:

Love.

_Don't you understand, Gaius? God is love._

Light was surreptitiously infuriated with the analogy presented before him. His opponent was placable if content but dangerous if dissatisfied. Misa was not worthy of Light. She was inferior to him. That sounded harsh, but it was true. If anyone came close to being equal with Light (Light knew that no one could claim that or, God forbid, that he or she was his superior), then it was L. Naomi Misora came close (May the heretic rot in Hell), but it was only L who was capable of destroying Kira. Unmitigated hatred could never prevent Light from refuting this truth, and this made him hate L all the more. Of course, while L was the only one skilled enough to eliminate Kira, he would never be able to. If you knew Light well, then you also knew that it was best not to ask him why.

_If you don't give me your heart Gaius, then I'll just have to take it. _

Yes, Light was playing chess with an imbecile ergo wasting his unimaginably valuable time with someone whose brain consisted of a inbred gerbil and a rusty wheel. And then there was the game itself, with unclear directions and esoteric construction. Ordinarily, chess was simple for Light: move this piece here, move this piece there, and presto chango you're king of the mountain.

But this game was different. In this game, it was not clear when one player won or when one player lost. In this game, a certain move or a certain series of moves did not guarantee victory or loss. In this game, the pieces acted of their own free will. The chess game between Light and L was sort of like this, but those two knew each other well, and they knew what they would and would not do and what they could and could not do. Admittedly, the two could surprise each other with unexpected moves, but that was about all. Light didn't need to worry about L stabbing him in the stomach with a steak knife. L didn't need to worry about Light smashing his skull open with a sledgehammer. Such moves would be rash, foolish, and insane. The world's two greatest detectives were many things, but they were not any of those.

However, the game with Misa was different, far different. People who kidnap other people are usually not all that balanced to begin with. One sign that would indicated sufficient sanity would be the kidnapper understanding the dire consequences of the abduction and all the terrible things that it entailed. May Bettis of Nebraska knew that she was looking at some heavy jail time after she bound Jimmy who had dumped her the week before when she told him that she was pregnant. Sergi López of Peru knew that his life would be ruined should anyone find out that he was stalking and fantasizing about raping one woman (He couldn't help it; he loved her so much, oh so very much, even if she didn't know that he existed).

Misa Amane was not concerned with the consequences. The police would not find her. Misa could not explain why this was, but she just knew, like how she just knew that everything would work out perfectly for her and Light in the end. And if the cops came, so what of it? Light obviously wouldn't press charges; he loved her far too much for that. If they locked her up in some God-awful cell, that still wouldn't make a difference. She was in Japan, not Iran (Misa giggled when she realized that the two nations rhymed when translated into English). They couldn't execute her. They couldn't throw her into a cell and then throw away the key. Worst case scenario, she would wait as long as she had to reunite with her beloved, and the thought of embracing him now and forever would prevent the demons of madness from claiming her sanity.

_We realized why Deborah and I have such extraordinary telepathy and why people treat us and look at us the way they do. It is because we are mad. We are both stark raving mad!_

Light knew that Misa knew this. Misa was stupid after all, and that gave Light an advantage in some respects. But Misa was also sick, sick with a disease of the mind that would mean disaster if it became malignant. Worst case scenario, Misa would become delusional and psychotic. Worst case scenario, Misa would become convinced that hurting Light would be the only way to insure that he would never leave her. Worst case scenario, Misa would be persuaded by her own reasoning that she and Light were the reincarnations of the immortal Romeo and Juliet, that the world and all its cruelties would not let them be, that they could only achieve perfect serenity in death.

One chess player was sane and brilliant. The other chess player was a potential ticking time bomb.

Player one's strategy: wait out the abduction, wait for player two to come to her senses, wait for release, and then write name in book ASAP.

Player two's strategy: bond with player one until player two knows that he will spend the rest of his life devoted to her, not the world.

However, player one was becoming impatient.

_Deeper. Deeper. Deeper._

Misa did everything she could to make Light comfortable. Lamps were set up to make things less dreary. A plasma TV, video games, books, CD's, a laptop, and an iPod were brought in. Light couldn't sit down all the time, so he was allowed to stretch his legs around the room during certain parts of the day. Misa, of course, always watched Light when he did this, and he did not like the way that she smiled during those times. Light also couldn't help but notice that Misa carried something that looked a whole lot like a taser sticking slightly out of her pants' pockets.

"Misa, is that what I think it is?" Light had asked her, pointing to the object in question.

Misa had only smiled and said dismissively, "Well, you know that we girls have to defend ourselves, honey."

The taser was not the only precaution that Misa took. When Light needed to use the bathroom, Misa came along with him. The door to the bathroom was right in the next room, and Light secretly cursed this. If the bathroom had been somewhere farther away, then he would have been able to analyze more of the building and use that to increase the chances of his making an escape plan.

Being watched by Misa in the bathroom was even worse than being watched while walking around. Normal people wouldn't do this. Normal people wouldn't show their love by barging into their loved one's most private moments, especially the moments that involved lurid procedures of bodily waste. However, Misa didn't mind the stench of urine and excrement, and this both irritated and frightened Light (Light refused to concede to the latter even though he could feel something gnawing at his heart). He looked at her as she sat on a stool across from the toilet and fortunately she wouldn't shut up. Light always found Misa's idiotic ramblings to be intolerable (How much could single person know about the band Nightmare?), but what if she didn't talk? What if she just looked at him with those adoring eyes, eyes that showed nothing other than a desperate, urgent need to be loved by God?

The thought would have turned on Light in any other situation. There was another person with that kind of power, the kind of power that allowed him to trick people, to surrender the most sacred parts of their bodies with only a few words. That man's name was Frank from a story called The Hellbound Heart (Light also like the Hellraiser movie adaptation. Why couldn't America stop remaking Japan's horror movies and go back to making more films of Clive Barker quality?). Frank was similar to Light (although Light knew that he was not a pervert like the hedonistic Frank) with his ability to seduce just about anyone with uncanny skill. But then Frank got too big for his britches, he danced with the wrong demons, and for his efforts he was dragged to Hell. Of course, there were no leather clad demons here, no hooked chains or puzzle boxes that could unlock dimensions of unimaginably glorious suffering. There was just Light, Misa, and the bathroom. However, the single light bulb was hardly ideal, and the poor lighting cast a hue of grit and stain on the room. When it came down to it, Light sat on a toilet in a dark, dour room being closely watched by a young woman whose eyes never left his, whose irises gleamed with the confession that not only could she not go on without him, she would not let him go on without her.

_We have such sights to show you._

There may have been no fire, no cavernous ruins, no great red dragons straight out of a William Blake painting, but Light Yagami could not shake the feeling that while he was not in Hell, he was in a place very much like it.

Their sex was passionate even though Light was tied hand and foot to the bedposts. The bed must have been brought in while Light slept on his chair because he couldn't ever recall seeing any sign of it before. Light was also flabbergasted that not only was Misa able to construct the bed by herself, she was also able to do it in a relatively short time. He had slept in the chair for what, seven or eight hours? When you also considered how small and petite Misa was, Light had to come to the grim conclusion that he may have underestimated this new foe.

"You want to tie me to this, huh?" Light said, trying to sound skeptical and not like he was afraid for his very life. Light doubted that Misa would do anything… painful to him, but the idea of being placed into such a vulnerable position did not strike him well.

"It'll be fun!" Misa chirped.

"Can't we just… make love like normal people?" Light said, involuntarily flinching at the "love" part and hoping that Misa didn't see it.

Misa stared at Light with a hurt puppy-dog look. "Is Light saying that Misa's weird?" She asked with some tears welling up in her eyes.

Goddamn you, Light mentally seethed. Maybe Misa was acting and maybe she wasn't, but he didn't have a choice now.

Light put on his "Kind Light" mask and laid a hand on Misa's shoulder. "Of course I don't," he said softly, "How could I ever think that about you when you've given my life so much meaning? I'm just a little nervous, that's all."

For added effect, Light trailed his finger from Misa's shoulder and traced it along her face. Misa's eyes dazed at this and she moaned as the soft finger trailed across the terrain of her face. The moans went up an octave when that finger moved across her lips. And when Light used his hand to cup Misa's face, the love-struck girl nearly swooned.

"That's alright," was all Misa could say before she threw herself into Light and began to feast hungrily upon his lips.

Two bodies, two worlds, and two souls briefly became one during their trysts. The product of their fornication was not, however, like the products of other acts of sex. There are many terms for the act of penetration. The amorous term is "making love". The scientific, objective term is "sex". The vulgar term is "fuck". There's screwing, hammering, tapping, copulating, and so many more, more that will be made and more that will fade with the passage of time.

_We'll all be together: you, me, and the baby. One big happy family. _

Not one of these terms could have applied to the union of Misa Amane and Light Yagami. Misa was making love to Light, but he was not making love to her. The physical act of love is made by people who are in love with each other. Misa was in love with Light; it goes without saying that the opposite was also in effect.

The verb "fuck" and the noun "sex" did not do justice to the two. Misa allowed Light to enter her not just because it felt good, but because she loved him and she wanted to show him that. Thus, they were not "fucking" only for the sheer pleasure involved. And "sex" was too impersonal a word, a word better saved for scientists observing a pack of animals in the act of mating. That was a word with no love in it, and so it did not apply to Misa.

"Fuck" and "sex" also did not apply to Light, but not for the same reasons. Light was not fucking Misa because fucking was all about pleasure without any sentimental strings attached to it, and Light did not find any of it to be pleasurable (A small part of Light said that this was a lie, but he ignored it. He would not and could not allow himself to bask in the fire that he and Misa made. The whore didn't deserve even that.).

If Light had been having sex with Misa, it would have been for some aloof purpose, similar to how endangered animals were expected to have sex just so the species could continue. Yet science was irrelevant at this point. This was not about making new discoveries in order to aid humankind; this was about surviving long enough in order to escape.

A question thus remained. If they were not making love, if they were not fucking, and if they were not having sex, then what exactly were they doing?

The answer: they were fighting.

_And don't you think I understand what you're doing? You're trying to move him into the country... and you're keeping him away from me! And you're playing happy family! Aren't you?_

Misa fought for everything that she wanted Light and her to be. Friends. Lovers. Wife. Husband. Parents. Death. Together now and forever. Immortal unity by a simple act of the flesh.

Misa fought for love.

Light fought for everything that he wanted for himself and that he wanted for Misa. For himself, Light fought for omnipotence and godhood. For Misa, he fought for her ruin, for her humiliation, for the time when he would finally be able close his hands around her throat and laugh in her face while the horror dawned on her, the knowledge that the light of her world had never loved her, could never love her, would never love her. The fire that Light felt was the same type of fire that he prayed would burn Misa alive.

Light fought for hatred.

The chess game continued but with one small new development. Light realized that he had underestimated Misa, and because of this error, because of this proof that Kira was not infallible, he despised her even more. Light grinded himself into Misa as hard as he could and pretended that he was raping her. If Light could have, he would have laughed like a maniac while he imagined that Misa's moans were not indications of love or of pleasure fulfilled, but of anguish and violation.

Of course, Misa had no idea that Light thought this way, and why would she? Yes, Light was somewhat rough in bed, but what male wasn't (Misa failed to acknowledge the fact that Light was the only person that she had ever slept with)? OK, so sometimes Light could be a little too "eager", but his carnal skills made up for it in spades. Misa would have asked Light if he had ever had practice making love with anybody else before (Misa growled a bit at this thought; Misa couldn't blame Light if he tried to satiate his raging hormones before they had met, but the thought still seemed…wrong…), but she always decided not to. Best not to open Pandora's Box.

In any case, Light knew what he was doing. It was almost like he could read her thoughts and then decipher whatever it was that she desired. He kissed her when she wanted to be kissed, and he licked and sucked whatever it was that she wanted his lips to caress. When she wanted submission, he would push, and when she wanted dominance then he would yield. Misa had no time to think deeply while Light ravaged her, as one cannot think beyond the primordial level when one's senses are alighted with pure glory. However, after Misa and Light finished, she would often find herself awake and lying next to a sleeping Light. Though tired, Misa would simply watch Light and know that she was the luckiest woman in the world to know, to love, and to be loved by this wonderful man.

_You're the greatest man in the world, Tom._

And yet, there was something else she briefly pondered while she laid next to him. How was it that he knew exactly what to do when they made love? Perhaps Misa's sexual inexperience did not permit her to question Light's dexterity, but… it was like he knew everything. Misa was intelligent enough to know that this was impossible even for an adept like Light, but the fact that he knew so much intimidated her. How was it that this man, as incredible as he was, could anticipate just about anything and everything with only two decades worth of experience?

_Fuck you, Joey!_

He was Light Yagami, that was why. He was the most brilliant man alive. His talents and skills put all others to shame. He had the beauty of Apollo and Adonis. He was sheer perfection incarnate. End of story. No need for you to probe into this further, Misa. Be grateful for what you have and don't let it go.

This was what the large hemisphere of Misa's mind instructed. However, there was a smaller part of her mind that said something else entirely. It wasn't a very strong or bold voice, but it was a crafty one, and it spoke to Misa whenever it was sure that the larger voice wasn't paying attention. Unlike the larger voice, it did not make concrete, inflexible statements; it merely asked questions. And there was nothing wrong with that, was there? They were just harmless questions, not slanderous accusations nor sly insinuations. Still, Misa did not enjoy listening to this voice as it asked her how it was that Light was so good at everything he put his mind to, how it was that he knew exactly how to make her happy, how it was that he seemed to have no flaws whatsoever.

It's because he's Light, Misa thought. He's my Light, and that's all that matters.

Misa ran her hand against Light's angelic face and fell asleep peacefully. Misa entered the Kingdom of Dream just before Light snickered far away in the depths of his own consciousness.

* * *

Light leaned back into his chair and placed his novel down onto his knees with an irritated sigh. American Psycho was a damn fine book so far, yet Light found his concentration wavering throughout his entire reading. Not even Patrick Bateman and his nail gun could take his mind off of the present even though that's what Light was hoping he would do. The present was humiliating, and Light wanted to think as little about it as possible. Still, the adult in Light knew that what he needed to do above all was to think and to think and to think until he could finally come up with some plan to escape from this god-forsaken perdition and his lunatic girlfriend.

But the child in Light had different plans. The child didn't want to face the facts, didn't want to acknowledge that he had been tricked and checkmated by a insignificant waste of protoplasm with the IQ of a lobotomized patient. Light knew that he should this bitter medicine of truth and then move on, but he found that he couldn't. The truth was far too bitter, even for him.

Light did make some attempts to face the truth head-on, but they invariably shifted from acceptance and planning to fuming and indignation. He simply couldn't devise any strategies while under this stress, this humiliation. Instead of freedom, he thought about murder and vengeance. He thought about Misa, a heretic and traitor to the Church of Light. And what was simply all the more maddening about the girl was that she was an idiot who couldn't comprehend the gravity of her transgressions! Christ, at least L was aware of the enmity between he and Light. Misa had no clue! No clue whatsoever! She played Light like a violin, she was barely aware of her small victory, and now she was rubbing her triumph in Light's face with this charade of hers. Light gritted his teeth and wondered how many more smiles and giggles and coos he could take before he just fucking lost it.

"Looking a little sour there, Light my man."

Light jerked his head around and caught partial sight of a blue and black figure levitating in the air. Excited in a way he had not been for quite some time, Light leaped his chair into the direction of the new figure.

No doubt about it; it was Ryuk, lanky body, creepy eyes, and all.

A plethora of emotions ran through Light: shock, relief, suspicion, anger. Light decided to go with anger.

"Where the hell have you been?" Light demanded.

"Oh, I've just been, you know, around," Ryuk replied like he wasn't looking at Light tied to a chair in a squalid boiler room, "Yeah, I've just been checking out your DVD collection and all that. Hey, why didn't you tell me that you had The Goonies? Man, that movie is-"

"Stop fooling around, Ryuk!" Light snapped, impatient and in no mood for the Shinigami's games, "And untie me! Now!"

"Nah," Ryuk replied.

You could hear a pin-drop in the silence that followed.

"Nah?" Light said at last, his face contorted into a grotesque parody of his usual beauty, "What exactly do you mean 'nah'?"

"Hey Light, I haven't just been playing your video games and reading your comics," Ryuk said, "I've also been watching you and Misa, and I've got to say, this is all pretty goddamn funny!"

"Funny? **Funny?" **Light screeched, " Fuck you! This isn't funny at all! This is a undeserved and egregious tragedy is what it is! Now do as I say!"

"Fuck me? Oh no, Light," Ryuk retorted in an amused voice, "Fuck you, buddy! Because you're the one who's really fucked!" Ryuk cackled at his own joke.

"I'll show you who's fucked, Ryuk!" Light snapped, "As soon as I'm out of this, you'll know what it entails to toy with the greatest mind on the planet! I'll show you what-"

"Yeah, I'm sure you will," Ryuk interrupted, suddenly sounding bored, "Well, later." And with that, Ryuk started to rise back up toward the ceiling.

"Wait! Stop!" Light cried out in panic, "Where are you going?"

"Uh, I don't know… your house, I guess," Ryuk replied, "Or maybe the movies. Hey, did you see Inglourious Basterds yet?"

"Ryuk, you treacherous bastard!" Light screamed, "What's the point of coming here to see me if all you're going to do is leave right afterwards?"

"Just checking up on you buddy, that's all," Ryuk chuckled, "Don't want you to bite your tongue off or lose your mind or whatever before this all ends, right?"

"Look, Ryuk, I'm sorry, OK?" Light said, now a little more in control of himself. He had tricked this infelicitous friend of his before, and he could sure as hell do it now. "I'm sorry! But listen, if you don't help me then Misa will still hold onto the Death Note! You won't be able to see me act as God! Didn't you say that you wanted to cure your boredom by seeing something new and drastic change the world?"

Ryuk was not impressed. "Sorry, Light," he said, "but that's a no-go. Shit man, it's like I already told you: I really don't care whether you live or die, whether you're God or not, or whatever. All I really want is to be amused, and believe me, this is amusing enough."

At this Ryuk continued to ascend, but Light did not give up.

"Apples!" Light cried out desperately, "Apples! All the apples you could possibly want! Apple pie! Apple cider! Apple sauce! I'll make them all myself if that's what you want! **Just get me out of here for Christ's sake**!"

"Your mom sure does buy a lot of apples, you know that, Light?" Ryuk asked with a disconcerting gleam in his eye, "But hey, don't worry about it. I'll probably be back to help you. If I feel like it, that is."

At this, Ryuk laughed raucously as he ascended out of the room and through the ceiling. The noise started out loud but then gradually became dimmer and dimmer until it eventually stopped.

The laughter may have left the room, but it didn't leave Light.

_Men's wretchedness in soothe I so deplore, not even I would plague the sorry creatures more._

* * *

WORKS CITED:

Battlestar Galactica (TV Series)

Heavenly Creatures (Movie)

Audition (Movie)

The Hellbound Heart/Hellraiser (Novel/Movie)

The Fly (Short Story/Movie)

Fatal Attraction (Movie)

A History of Violence (Graphic Novel/Movie)

Faust (Play)


	4. Chapter III: Sympathy For The Devil

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

CHAPTER III: SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

Die, die, die my darling  
Don't utter a single word  
Die, die, die my darling

Just shut your pretty mouth

I'll be seeing you again  
I'll be seeing you in hell

-The Misfits

You hurt and abused tellin all of your lies,  
Run around sweet baby, lord how they hypnotize.  
Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been,  
Gonna love you baby, here I come again

-Led Zeppelin

Like the birth of a new found joy,  
This love would end in rage

-Pantera

Oh my baby, baby, I love you more than I can tell  
I don't think I can live without you  
And I know that I never will  
Oh my baby baby I want you so it scares me to death  
I can't say anymore than "I love you"  
Everything else is a waste of breath

-Elvis Costello and The Temptations

* * *

Things did not go well for Light after Ryuk left.

To say that Light was upset with Misa was an understatement. To say that Light wanted to chain her hands to a car, set her on fire, and then drive through town would be more accurate.

The facts, as Light saw it, were this: Misa, an unworthy, disloyal, and wretched whore he had taken pity on had audaciously disregarded his superiority and imprisoned him for her own amusement. The more Light reflected on this, the more he became enraged. His mind, once comparable to a supercomputer briskly humming away, had become a flaming vortex of chaos. Light had been able to stifle his extreme sense of indignation, but for all the good that it did him, he could feel his resolve weakening each and every single day.

The day would come when Light's id would take over. Soon, sooner than he probably even realized, the beast would awaken, irate, ravenous, and vengeful. Light was aware that something had to give; he did not know exactly how long it had been since he had been captured, but his intuition told him that it was about a month or so. Somewhat disappointed in his own endurance, Light knew that he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. If Misa did not release him soon, then someone was going to become seriously injured, maybe even killed. Whether it was Misa, who seemed to have all the advantages, or Light, a man whose only weapons were overwhelming intelligence and impeccable powers of persuasion, who would lose was unknown to the god in flesh. Perhaps he would die. Perhaps she would die. Perhaps they would both die. Whatever the outcome, Light couldn't help but feel that there would be blood.

Light found himself looking forward to that day.

_My fears incline to the same point. Evil, I fear, founded-evil was sure to come-of that connection._

Misa knew that she was not the smartest tool in the shed. She never did enjoy school all that much and various fields of study usually ended up with her yawning and falling asleep. While Misa knew that she could never come even close to being as smart as her own boyfriend, she also knew that she was cute, fun, loving, and loyal. And for awhile, Misa was sure that that was enough. Just like she was certain that she deserved nothing like Light, she was also certain that he would never hurt her.

Misa could have been the stupidest person on the planet. She could have had a brain the size of an ant. She could have thought that Kofi Annan was a brand of coffee. But even if all these things were true, even if she was nothing more than eye candy, even if she thought that 2+2=5, there would be at least one thing that she would know, that one thing that anyone would know had they walked in to that boiler room with her.

They would all know that there was a chill in the air.

_God? God is love. I don't love you._

Misa carried in two trays of lunch and eyed Light curiously. Light did not look quietly content as he usually did; instead, there was a subtle look of impatience, irritation, and vehemence in his face.

"Light? Honey bear?" Misa asked, placing the trays down on the TV but eyeing him worriedly all the while, "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Gee, Misa, what could possibly be wrong?" Light retorted in a voice that ripped with venom, "Could it be that I've been kidnapped? Maybe that I've been deprived of my obligations? Or could it be that I've been sitting in this chair for weeks on end now?"

Misa put on the most mature and confident look that she could, but Light could tell that despite all the rehearsals and self-assurances, she was still very much a scared little girl.

"Now Light," Misa said in an almost matriarchal manner, "You and Misa have already had this discussion, and it was agreed that-"

"Nothing was agreed!" Light snapped at her, "You made the decision to hold me here against my will! There only one person who agreed to any of this, Misa, and that was you!"

Misa's calm and cool demeanor was slipping and it was slipping fast. Her true face emerged, the face of a naïve girl baffled by all the morbid complexities of life. "But… but you said-"

"Screw what I said," Light seethed. He wanted to grin while saying this, a nice big ugly grin because he was finally embracing his rage, using it to tower over the worthless bitch and frighten her. He reached for the infinite amount of fire in his being and drank deeply from it, rolled in it, reveled in it. God, how long had he stayed away from the flames? For how long had he disallowed the fire to rejuvenate and empower him? For how long did he allow this imbecile to preclude him from obtaining this sheer ecstasy?

It had been far, far too long.

_Remember, a Jedi's strength flows from the Force. But beware. Anger, fear, aggression. The dark side are they. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny._

"Who is God, Misa?" Light asked. He could feel the flames surround him and kiss him.

"Kira…is…" Misa said, sounding very much like a small child trying to not let her parents trick her into admitting that she had a cookie before dinner.

"Exactly. And who is Kira?"

"…you are?"

"Very good, Misa. I am Kira. Kira is God. Ergo, I am God!" Light's voice rose an octave during the last sentence and caused Misa to jump a bit. "And do you know what people do with gods?"

Misa nodded, but not confidentially. Light could taste all the poisonous, bitter words that he wanted to scream at this girl, yet he clamped them down, swallowed hard, and grimaced as he felt the sharp edges cut his innards on the way down. No, he was here to persuade the girl, not terrify her witless. He would have to hold himself in check. He could do that.

He was Light Yagami for Christ's sake.

_I will speak daggers to her, but use none._

"Are you sure about that, Misa? Are you? See, where I'm from, people tend to worship and revere and obey their gods," Light growled, "They don't usually tie them up to a chair in a boiler room and then disobey them!

Misa didn't say anything now. She just stared at the floor with eyes that were welling up and a body that was slightly trembling. Light could have laughed. When it came to Misa, when it came to women, hell, when it came to humans, they were all so easy, just putty in his hand waiting to be shaped. All it took were the right words, the right tone, the right moves, and then they might as well have been sheep.

All right then. The fish had seen the bait, and it had taken a bite. All Light needed to do was reel it in, "I understand that you were trying to do what you thought was in the best interest of our relationship, Misa, but this has got to stop," Ah yes, the sound of patriarchal dominance, the last nail to the coffin of confusion and guilt that Misa was mired in. She just needed one more final touch. "It's time to end this foolishness and let me go. When we get home, we can talk about all of this and how to mend our problems."

Misa continued to stare at the floor. She might have been mumbling to herself and if she did then it was too faint for Light to discern.

Light narrowed his eyes. She was not coming to free him like he had planned even after that brilliant rebuke he had given her. The flames started to feel bad instead of good; they scorched and bit him where they once tenderly kissed and caressed him.

_Become vengeance, David. Become wrath._

"Misa, I just gave you a-"Light began.

"I can't!" Misa cried.

Light gritted his teeth. This was definitely not going the way he planned.

"What do you mean, 'you can't'?" Light seethed, "Do you literally mean that you can't, or do you mean that you won't?"

"I can't!" Misa screamed, "I can't I can't I can't!"

"Why not?" Lights screamed.

"Because he'll take you away from me!" Misa screamed.

Light felt a temporary cessation in his wrath. He? Who the hell was "he"?

"Misa, what are you talking about?" Light nearly whispered, "Who's trying to take me away from you?"

"L!" Misa cried.

…L?

"Wha…what?" Light said, sincerely baffled.

"L is in love with you!" Misa cried, tears now freely falling, "That's why he suggested that you and he be handcuffed together! He wanted to be with you always! And Misa was afraid that if you were with him long enough, you would fall in love with him too! That's why Misa took you before L could!"

_I can't go on without you._

For once, there was silence. However, this silence was a heavy one. It carried the tension and emotion to come. Truly, it was the calm before the storm.

Me… and L?, Light thought.

Suddenly a bevy of images appeared within Light's mind. L and Light hugging. L and Light kissing. L naked. Light naked. Naked together. One penetrating the other. One blowing the other. He and L, fucking and kissing and licking and biting and sucking and sweating. He and L in love with one another.

Light could not have thought of a more disgusting and infuriating concept.

_Oh... he didn't know._

"HOW DARE YOU!" Light screamed.

Misa seemed confused. "Huh, what-"

"YOU STUPID, MYOPIC, DENSE WHORE!" Lights screamed again, rocking back and forth .

Misa took a step back because, although she briefly registered that it was impossible, she could feel immense heat flaming off of Light. And then there were the eyes, the glaring orange-red eyes that held her in a trance of horrified wonder. "I DON'T LOVE L, YOU IDIOT! I HATE HIM! I DESPISE HIM! EVEN A RETARD CAN SEE THAT, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!"

"But… I…" Misa tried.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Light screamed "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU WORTHLESS WHORE?"

Misa could endure no more. With a gasp, she placed her hand on her mouth, as if she were trying to stop herself from throwing up. Then she turned and fled the room, sobbing and crying all the way.

Light slumped in his seat, exhausted. God no, what had he done? He needed the stupid girl! She had the keys to his locks!

"MISA!" Light hollered, "Come back! I didn't mean it! I love you! I'm sorry! I love you and I'm sorry! MISA, COME BACK! MISA!"

Light could only hear the gradually diminishing noise of a young girl running with a broken heart. Misa could only hear the gradual diminishing noise of…

… she didn't even know anymore.

_I am the Devil, and I am here to do the Devil's work._

* * *

Light's stomach growled, and he had the sudden urge to snap at it for making him uncomfortable. Then he reconsidered: not only would that waste energy that he so sorely needed, but he didn't even have any energy to spare.

God, I feel so stupid, Light thought bitterly to himself. Light wasn't completely sure, but he guessed that Misa had been gone for at least a day. That would explain why, despite his stomach growling invariably, it roared during the three periods that he was used to eating during. Misa had left him neither food nor water, and Light wasn't surprised. What did Light think was going to happen, especially after he screamed that he was going to kill Misa? Dogs were loyal, but even Fido would split if his master told him that he was going to put him down.

It wasn't so much food that Light was worried about. Hell, he could go without food for, what, two or three weeks? It was the idea of a water shortage that nearly made him panic. He needed water, and he needed it soon. If one day was already up, then he only had two days left before he succumbed to a very slow and excruciating death.

Light sighed. It seemed like he had no choice.

Thankfully, though he had been handcuffed to the back of the chair, he still had some room to move around. Using his left forefinger, he pressed the small "emergency" button on his watch.

"Yagami! Where are you?" A certain voice said, slightly more emotional than it was used to, "What's happened to you? Are you safe?"

Light's face became a mortified sneer. Using the emergency button on his watch and calling L was his last resort and for good reason. How the hell was he going to explain this to the rest of the Japanese Task Force? And how the hell was Misa going to explain her involvement? And what of the Death Note? Goddamnit, Misa, Light thought, you better have hidden it in a good spot. If the JTF found the Death Note, then Light could probably convince them that Misa was working for Kira. Still, that story lacked credibility. Yes, Light used Misa as a tool, but then again, he had been stuck with her from the very beginning. If the circumstances had been different, then Light would have written down her name the moment he thought she was of no more use.

And as for convincing everyone that Misa was the real Kira, well… that just wasn't going to happen. If Misa really was Kira, then the idiot would have been caught in, like what, a week? Instead, Kira's rule had been lasting for years, so it was obvious that someone of at least above average intelligence was the culprit.

Goddamnit! He had wanted to settle this matter by himself! By having the JTF get involved there would be more attention paid to both himself and Misa, and the more attention paid to him meant the more vulnerable he was!

Relax, Light thought. You're Light Yagami, OK? You're a genius. You've gone through plenty of this crap before; this is just one more small step you need to overcome.

_There, on our favorite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white... something dark stood behind the seat where the white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell."_

"Ryuzaki," Light began hoarsely before clearing his throat, "I'm in big trouble here. Misa's kidnapped me, and now I'm stuck inside a boiler room!"

"Are you injured?" L asked.

"Just my pride, you dick," Light muttered.

"Say what?" L asked, "Couldn't quite hear you there, Yagami."

"I'm fine, with the exception that I haven't eaten or drank anything for the entire day," Light replied, "And I said some… unpleasant things to Misa, so who knows when she's going to reappear?"

"I see…" L murmured, "Yagami, why would Misa kidnap you?"

Ah, the detective tone. The same tone that L used whenever he wanted to imply that Light was Kira. Except now, he chose a poor time to use it.

"Damnit, Ryuzaki!" Light snapped, "I'm tied to a chair here and two days away from starving to death! Can't you save the questions until after you rescue me?"

"Oh, of course, I'm so sorry, Yagami," L said, not sounding completely convinced by Light's response. "We'll all come and save you right away."

Now, time for the plan to go into effect. Of course, Light couldn't allow Misa to survive much longer. At one time, he might have killed her himself. But now that the JTF was coming to his rescue, well, why not just let them do the work for him?

Light grinned widely. The flames were back and this time they were as welcome as a drunk fat girl at a frat party.

_You have forgotten the face of your father._

"L! Be careful!" Light said, "Misa's lost her mind! She's been slapping me and screaming at me one moment and then kissing me and begging me for forgiveness the next! She's even threatened to kill anyone who tries to rescue me! She showed me her AK-47, do you understand me, Ryuzaki? Misa has an AK and God knows what else!"

Come on, take the bait you stupid bastard, Light prayed.

"Don't worry, Yagami, we're well prepared for anything that Misa might attempt", L replied, "And we have several advantages over her. We're certainly equipped than she is; there's no way that she could buy more weapons than us when we're on the government's payroll. And then there's the GPS chip we installed into your watch. You didn't tell her about the chip, did you?"

"What do you think, L?" Light almost snapped. Take it easy there, Light. This guy is your only ticket out of this dump. You can always torture him to death later.

"I think not," L replied, "OK, very good. At the very least, we have a pretty good chance of finding in… well, wherever you are."

"Thank God for small miracles," Light muttered.

"And then there's Misa's intelligence", L replied, apparently not having heard Light's muttering, "I'm sorry that I have to say this Yagami… I mean, I know you and Misa are close, but… well, she's just not that bright. Even Matsuda could outsmart her. And that gives us a huge advantage over her."

Light had to bite down hard on his lips to stop himself from giggling. Misa, an idiot? Oh yeah, that was one hell of a twist. That was about as shocking as learning that Rob Halford was gay. Oh gee, L, did you happen to also know to know that Malcolm X wasn't all that fond of white people?

"How long will it take you to get here?" Light asked, stifling his laughter.

"It should only take us about… forty minutes or so to get to wherever you are," L replied.

Light's eye twitched. Forty minutes? Misa chose a location that was forty minutes away from HQ? Damnit, Misa, Light thought, even a chimpanzee could do a better job than you at this!

"Forty minutes," L murmured, "You can't be too far then. I guess that's another card in our favor, huh, Yagami?"

"Yeah," Light said once more through gritted teeth, "Someone up there must like me."

"Is there anything else you need to tell me before we leave, Yagami?" L asked.

I want to kill you. I want to kill Misa. I hate you both so, so much. I'm going to let pigs eat your corpses in order to hide any and all evidence. If I could set you on fire and watch you burn to death, then I could die a happy man.

_You're gonna burn for this, Angel._

"Get here soon," Light said, "And be careful."

_Yeah. In Hell._

A faint click rang through the room, like a penny falling to the concrete floor. The transmission was over.

Light leaned back into his chair and allowed himself to sigh with some contentment. Everything was mostly going according to plan. And why wouldn't it? Everything went right for Light Yagami, one of the few genuine geniuses and adept left in this barren intellectual wasteland known as Earth.

Yes, everything went according to plan except…

Light remembered his recent flare-up against Misa, grimaced, but then grinned again. So what if he had made one small mistake? Soon Misa would be out of his life for good, he would be able to make himself look like a victim, and he could always return here to retrieve the Death Note at some later time.

Yes, everything was going to turn out to be just fine.

No. Perfect.

Everything was going to turn out perfect for Light Yagami.

A bead of sweat rolled down Light's head.

_This isn't going to have a happy ending._

* * *

They arrived some thirty seven minutes later. At first, it was a distant rumble. Gradually, the noise became louder and louder until Light was sure that there was at least two cars being driven.

He could hear the slamming of breaks. The doors being kicked open. Feet moving in fast yet professional manner. Orders being barked. It sounded like they were all being split into two groups. Then more running.

Then silence; except it wasn't really silence because while it may have been quite in the outside the world, Light could hear the throbbing of his own tense mind like a man could hear the click of pistol held to his own head.

Then gunfire. Loud, loud, loud gunfire. Gunfire so loud that it almost seemed that they were shooting in the same room as Light.

Light stared at the door and listened with awe. God Almighty, what were they using out there? It sounded like a hellish combination of handguns, shotguns, machine guns, and grenades. L must have taken Light's bogus warning Misa pretty seriously then.

Unexpectedly and abruptly, silence returned. Then a scream was issued, undoubtedly Misa's. It sounded like she was screaming, "You'll never have him!" or some other such nonsense, but Light couldn't be sure. What he could be sure of was that Misa stopped screaming when a gunshot when off.

That was it then.

Misa was dead.

Light fell silent out of shock. Misa was dead. The girl who was completely infatuated with him had been killed. The young woman he had been preparing to become his queen was no longer alive.

_You wouldn't dare try to justify yourself if you knew what I'd lost. Have you ever had to talk to the person you love most, wondering if you're about to listen to them die? You ever had to lie to that person? Tell them it's going to be all right, when you know it's not? Well, you're about to find out what that feels like. Then you'll be able to look me in the eye and tell me you're sorry._

The slight o shaped mouth twisted into a smirk.

Well, he thought, I suppose there's a silver lining for every rainbow.

_And thus I clothe my naked villany with odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ, and seem a saint, when most I play the devil._

Light did not get a chance to reflect on the consequences of Misa's death; the sound of approaching footsteps caught his ear and as they became louder and louder, Light's heart beat faster and faster and his hopes became greater and greater.

The door opened and the light from the hall reflected imperfectly but sufficiently on the emerging visitor.

Light could never think of a time where he was so happy to see the man that he loathed the most in the entire world.

L stumbled toward Light, still shaking all the while. The closer that L got, the better that Light could see him.

And the better that Light could see L, the tighter his stomach became until he was sure that he could breathe no more.

L was bloody, bloody as bloody could be. This made his clothes look even more raggedy that before, although L didn't seem to mind that. He was too busy breathing in ragged strips and quivering like a dog that anticipates being kicked by his abusive master. L's eyes were always wide (they reminded Light of a fish, another reason that he despised him), but now they were even wider than ever, and Light… Light could tell that there was more shock and confusion in those eyes than L had ever known before.

My god, thought Light, what could have L discovered that would rattle him this badly?

L tried to speak. Light noticed that he was holding his right hand to the left side of his ribs. The man was hemorrhaging.

"What… what happened out there, Ryuzaki?" Light asked faintly, hoarsely.

L opened his mouth to speak.

L's head exploded, debris of brain, skull, and blood flying onto the floor and onto Light.

_Are you insane? They'll kill you like a mad dog! You and Superman could have been friends!_

Light's mind became blank for what seemed to be an eternity but what was really only a few seconds. Light saw L's head blow up and yet… he had trouble believing it. The puzzle pieces were there, scattered in the dark infinities of his consciousness; something just prevented them from being put together.

Light thought nothing and he felt nothing even as the sordid stench of human waste filled his nostrils.

Then Light saw Misa standing in the doorway, behind where L once stood, a shotgun held with both hands, smoke drifting from both barrels into an air already filled with visible dust.

And then the puzzle pieces crashed together, harshly, severely, remorselessly.

_Mother! Oh God, mother! Blood! Blood!_

"MISA!" Light bellowed, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Misa didn't respond but kept staring at Light with those unfamiliar, tired eyes of hers. She stared at him like a half-curious scientist examining a somewhat intriguing but ultimately harmless animal.

Light began to furiously rock in his chair, abandoning all restraint, gliding on a red streak that was all wrath and hate.

"YOU BITCH!" Light screamed, emptying all the thoughts that he had formed about Misa and then stored secretly, all the obscenities and curses spewing into the open air. "YOU GODDAMN FUCKING WHORE! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS, DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME? FUCKING KILL!"

Misa continued to simply watch him. Light briefly registered a predatorily gleam in her eyes.

"FUCKING FUCKING FUCK!" Light roared. He thrashed so hard now that the chair fell to the side bringing him down with it. His face fell near L's stump, and through the deafening madness clamoring inside his mind, he could still hear a wet smack. His face had fallen into a still expanding puddle of blood. "I HATE YOU, YOU FUCKING CUNT, YOU FUCKING BITCH WHORE MONGREL! I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON YOUR OWN SHIT! I HOPE YOU DIE WHILE BEING GANG RAPED! FUCKING SHIT FUCK!"

Light wanted to see Misa break down like before, even if it meant leaving him here among the bodily crimson. He wanted to see her scream and he wanted to see her cry and he wanted to see her wail with the only kind of sound that could come from someone so thoroughly disillusioned, so heart broken, so spiritually violated. He wanted to see her soul shatter. His rage demanded blood.

Instead, Misa continued to survey him quietly, coldly even while he screamed and screeched everything wicked and horrible that he could think of. Then she turned around, walked outside of the door, and slammed it shut, all without a word. Though the slam of the door was louder than Light's own ravings, he continued on oblivious to Misa's absence.

"THE END IS NEAR FOR YOU, BITCH!" He thundered. His eyes remained wide open with unending, frenetic rancor even though some blood began to touch an exposed eye. "DEATH! DEATH FOR YOU! YOUR NAME IS GOING IN THE FUCKING BOOK! I GUARANTEE IT! I FUCKING GUARANTEE IT!"

_What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god!_

* * *

WORKS CITED:

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Novella)

The Prophecy (Movie)

Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (Movie)

Hamlet (Play)

Se7en (Movie)

Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (Movie)

The Devil's Rejects (Movie)

Dracula (Novel)

The Dark Tower (Novel Series)

Falling Angel/Angel Heart (Novel/Movie)

The Dark Knight (Movie)

Richard III (Play)

Superman All Star (Graphic Novel)

Psycho (Novel/Movie)


	5. Chapter IV: God Hates Us All

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT CHAPTER IV:**

**GOD HATES US ALL**

Go find a woman and you'll find love,  
And don't forget son,  
There is someone up above

-Lynyrd Skynyrd

It's time to set my demons free.

-Pantera

The more you suffer, the more it shows you really care.

-The Offspring

He sits upon his throne and picks at all the bones of his  
Husbands and his  
Wives he's devoured  
He stares with a gleam  
With a laugh so obscene at the virgins and the children  
He's deflowered

-Alice Cooper

* * *

A few days passed where Light and Misa did not talk to each other at all. Misa would only enter the room in order to bring Light his food and to untie only his arms for only this purpose. Misa made the effort to make the taser even more noticeable. Light ate, and he showed no emotions while doing so. When that was that, Misa would simply tie Light back up again, take the plates, and then leave the room.

A day or two later, Misa put an end to the pattern. She placed the plated of food on the fold-up table, and she turned to unlock Light's arm braces. Instead of going through with this though, she stood motionless in front of him. Light continued to hang his head, refusing to look at her.

"Misa and Light need to talk", Misa nearly whispered.

Light didn't respond.

"Misa didn't… I didn't want this to happen", Misa said, "I… I wanted us to get closer, as close as possible. I guess… I guess I went about it the wrong way. Just like I do with everything else."

Light didn't respond.

"But, Light, you have to know," Misa began to say until her voice croaked. She did her best to regain her composure, but she couldn't stop herself from slightly shaking nor could she stop the tears falling steadily down her cheeks, "You have to know that I love you so much! I know that I'm stupid and I know that you're a genius and I was afraid of losing you! I never wanted to hurt you! I only wanted you to love me as much as I love you! I would never do anything to hurt you! I would rather die before that! You have to believe me, Light! You just have to!" Misa's plea rang into a screech.

Light didn't respond.

"Light, you are…" Misa choked, "You're the reason that I'm still alive. You're the reason that I get out of bed in the morning. You're the only thing in this whole, rotten, fucked-up world that gives me any hope!"

Light didn't respond.

"You are…" Misa said struggling for words desperately, "…you are the light of my world."

A sob. And then another. And again. Misa stared in shock as Light started to tremble, mildly at first, then violently. Then like a dam bursting from the immense pressure of raging storm , Light Yagami broke down and cried harder than he ever had in his life.

"Oh God, Misa!" Light wailed, "Oh God, what have we become? I never wanted you to become anything like me!"

"What are you-" Misa began.

Light snapped his head up to stare at Misa. She nearly cringed at what she saw: her angel, her Apollo, her Lancelot, tainted with splotches of tears and tired, raw eyes.

"Don't you get it, Misa?" Light screamed, "You were the one thing that I wanted to protect from all of this! You… you think I'm perfect, but I'm not! I'm just fucking not! The Death Note has poisoned me! Can't you understand that?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Misa screeched. She would have rather hammered nails into her hands than to hear Light say such things.

"It's evil!" Light ranted, "It taints everything that it touches! Why do you think I treat you like shit, Misa? I want to show you that I love you, I want to get close to you, but every time I do, I'm afraid that I'll hurt you! It's warped me, and I would rather choke and die than see it hurt you!"

"Oh… oh, Light," Misa whispered, feeling very faint.

"Please, Misa, just untie me," Light whimpered, "Just let me go, and we'll leave together. I'll destroy the Death Note. We'll get married. We'll have kids. We'll spend the rest of our lives together. We'll live happily ever after just like we were meant to."

Misa faltered for a moment. She had never been so confused in her life. She had never known that the Death Note could affect a person in so dramatic a way. She had never known that Light felt this way. Yes, in some way, she was overjoyed that Light wanted all the things that she wanted. However, at the same time, she had never wanted to see Light, her angel, her rock, her fearless, brave, noble god to break down like this. She felt like the ground beneath her feet was starting to disappear.

"Misa," Light said, his gaze in perfect alignment with hers, "Won't you trust me?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Faster than even she could have imagined, Misa undid Light's knots from behind the chair. She found herself sobbing with joy and relief while she went about her work. When she had finished, she raced to the front of Light, intending to help him up.

"C'mon, baby, let me help you up," Misa said, "Let's get you out of here. Soon, we'll-"

Misa felt her stomach grow numb.

_ Could you do what you did? Of course you could._

The numbness was quickly replaced with a fierce, throbbing pain.

_ But I never thought you would, or could, do that to me._

Light had punched Misa in the stomach.

_ I'm really sorry, Kiddo..._

Misa then felt herself being lifted up into the air, and she wondered deliriously whether she was beginning to fly.

_ … but you thought wrong._

The answer was yes. Yes, she was starting to fly. However, she was not flying in the sense of a small sparrow darting one spot to another (Misa would have liked that very much). Instead, she felt like another human being had picked her up and then literally tossed her across the room.

What Misa felt was not far from the truth. In fact, it was the truth.

The slam against the wall knocked a few bearings out of Misa. The world was spinning despite Misa's futile wishes for the contrary. Thinking simple thoughts such as "I'm in pain" or "that really hurt" became a laborious chore. It even took Misa a few moments to recognize Light, and when she did recognize him she unwittingly played a word association game. Light: Danger: Defend: Taser.

Misa dully reached for the taser and was not surprised to see that it was not on her person. She considered this again, and the reality of the situation hit her harder. She pondered this a third time, and suddenly what had been a simple piano piece by Philip Glass had turned into a blaring Richard Wagner symphony. I don't have the taser, she thought, I don't have the taser, what happened to it, oh no no no no…

Misa's vision became less blurry and clearer. Light was standing, and he held the taser in his hand. Without a word, he dropped the taser to the floor and then stamped his foot on it. The taser broke into several pieces that only emitted a startled hiss in response.

Light glared at Misa with eyes that burned with blood lust.

"You get a thirty second head start", Light said.

The sentence itself was vague, but given the situation, Misa understood it and its implications perfectly. She picked herself up despite her bones protesting quite noisily, and she took off. Unfortunately, Misa hobbled more than ran out of the room. She thought it was strange that her body wouldn't move as fast as her racing heart.

Light glanced a little longer at the door after Misa hastily made her exit. Despite the situation at hand, Light was feeling calm, calmer than he had felt in a long time. Somehow, he had managed to achieve some form of serenity. Everything was so clear now; he felt like he was able to analyze just about anything without any hindrances or issues. Hell, he was making up his new, brilliant contingency plan on the run.

Light spotted a glass container mounted against one of the support beams. On the container was a notice: USE IN CASE OF FIRE ONLY. Light walked up to this container, and smashed it open with his fist. The pain felt very vague and distant; the euphoric sensation of surging power dominated him.

Light pulled out the ax and placed the cold metal handle rest against his forehead. Oh, why had he denied himself this for so long? Why did he try to fool the world into thinking that he was something that he was not? Why didn't he just admit it and shout it out to the entire world?

I am a killer.

_ There ain't no monsters. There's no great saving grace, no us and them and we-couldn't-possibly-do things-like-that. There's just us. _

I'm good at killing.

_ All worlds begin in darkness, and all so end. The heart is no different. Darkness sprouts within it, grows, consumes it. Such is its nature. In the end, every heart returns to the darkness whence it came. You see, darkness is the heart's true essence._

And I like it.

_ Shit, man, I'm a natural born killer. _

Light took off after Misa, his new toy tucked securely in his hands.

"I've missed you so much," Light murmured. The ax didn't reply, but that was alright. Light knew that it loved him even though it couldn't say so.

Besides, it was going to show Light just how much it loved him in a few minutes.

_ You and I have unfinished business._

_ Baby... you ain't kiddin'._

* * *

As Misa half-ran and half-hobbled, she remembered something from her childhood. Misa had never been the brightest child (that job fell to her plainer looking sister) and had been more interested in fashion and boys than schoolwork. Still, that never stopped her from looking forward to Storytime just before bedtime. It was because of Storytime that Misa learned what a truly beautiful place the world could be, a world filled with friends like Alice, Dorothy, Peter Pan, Bilbo Baggins, and Willie Wonka. However, as wonderful as those old stories were, the story that Misa remembered the most was also the one that broke her little heart for the first time in her life. Misa was not prodigious when it came recalling names and titles, but she could remember these perfectly: The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen. In that story, a little, impoverished girl tried to sell matches in the frigid snow; if the little girl went back home without having sold any, her father would beat her. Despite this consequence, no one would buy matches, and the Little Match Girl had no choice but to light several matches in order to prevent freezing to death. But then she saw a vision of her dead grandmother, the only person to ever treat the poor child with any warmth or kindness. That vision comforted the Little Match Girl, and she kept staring at the match until she froze to death.

Misa and the Little Match Girl did not have much in common, but that didn't stop Misa from bawling when she heard the end of the story.

"Honey, it's only a story!" Her father had told her.

This sensible intimation had no effect on Misa, who continued to sob.

"Misa sweetie, I know it's sad that she died, but she got to go to Heaven!" Her mother said "She got to go to the most wonderful place imaginable!"

True, the Little Match Girl got to go to Heaven. But why did she have to die at so young an age? What kind of a world would allow something like that to happen? Why didn't someone try to help her? Why were people allowing her father to beat her? Why didn't Aslan or the Cat in the Hat or Dorothy or Harold and his purple crayon try to save her? These were the questions that raced through Misa's head following the story, questions that she tried to answer as she tossed and turned under her blankets that night.

The effect of the story diminished over the next few days. Eventually, all thoughts of the Little Match Girl more or less disappeared from her consciousness. There were boys, clothes, and celebrities to be thought about, and it didn't do Misa too much good to keep moping about something she had no control over.

Still, the Little Match Girl never completely left her. When the family's dog, Daigoro, died, Misa cried for the entire day and yearned for some light to repel away her chilling grief. When Misa began to experience her bouts of teenage depression, she begged God for any light that he could spare to save herself from the darkness.

And then her parents were murdered. They were murdered right before her very eyes by a burglar as she hid in a blinded closet. That had been the worst moment in her entire life. It was then when she needed light the most.

Downers had provided some light for her soon thereafter, but it was not enough. It didn't make her forget. It didn't make the mechanical smell of blood disappear from her nostrils.

Then he came. God. Kira. Light Yagami. She had been ready to formally worship him at first, but then she saw the boy behind the alias, and she knew, she knew that he had to be hers, she knew that they belonged together, she knew he was her purpose in life and nothing else. Life smiled on Misa then because it gave her Light.

What linked The Little Match Girl and Misa Amane? What linked these two girls from two different times and two different worlds?

It was the light. It was the light that connected these two , the light that all people try to find at some point in their lives. That was all the little Match Girl Wanted: not toys or candy or clothes but glorious, holy, fulfilling light, light to keep her warm, light to keep her safe, light to shield her from the darkness.

_ Can you save him? _

Misa had received her Light. And now Light was trying to kill her. If there was a lesson to be learned from all this, then Misa had no clue what it was.

_ It is for you to decide. It is all the same to me, my heart is filled with dust and sand. But you should know, it is his destiny to bring about the destruction of the Earth... not now, not tomorrow but soon enough. Knowing that, you still want him to live?_

No! He wouldn't! He was just angry, is all!, Misa thought, When he finds me he'll be calm and loving and he'll apologize and then we'll all live happily ever after! Just like the books promised!

_ So, child, make the choice. The world, or him?_

Something inside Misa spoke to her. It didn't speak to her in words, but through intuition. It told Misa exactly what Light would plan to do with her when he found her.

_ Him._

Misa moaned and tried to half-run and half-hobble even faster.

_ The time will come, and you, my dear, will suffer more than anyone. _

* * *

Light strolled down the corridor, ax slung casually over his shoulder, whistling a merry tune. There was a twinkle in his eyes, the kind of a twinkle that a little boy would have when browsing the delights of a candy store. Light briefly noticed the corpses of the JTF laid out against the walls and onto the floor, their last expressions of horrified shock. For some reason, this massacre struck Light as insignificant, as did the haphazard and puddles of blood, the assortment of bone, innards, and brain, and the detachment of several limbs. No, it had not bothered him that he had entered another circle of Hell.

When Light was small, and his father Soichiro Yagami came home from work at the end of the day, Soichiro would sit down in his easy chair, pop open a can of beer, and listen to the radio. Light and his sister Sayu would have to be quiet downstairs (the radio was in the downstairs parlor) or they had to play upstairs during this instance because it was, as their mother put it, "Daddy's resting time". However, Light always thought it strange that his overworked and overstressed father would choose to relax to the music of his generation: classic rock and roll. If Dad was so tired, then why did he listen to the more titillating sounds of Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Elvis Presley, and Fats Domino? Whatever the reason, Soichiro seemed to relieve tension from "You're The Devil In Disguise", "You Can Never Tell", and "I Can't Quit You Baby". Occasionally, Light would sit quietly on the couch with his father and listen to the music just because he wanted to spend some time with a parent who never seemed to be home all that often. Only later would Light decide that Soichiro was more committed to his career than he was to his family and the cease efforts to bond with him.

However, it wasn't as if Light's attempts were entirely unproductive. At the very least, he got to become acquainted with some classy and catchy music.

Like Buddy Holly.

"If you knew Peggy Sue, then you'd know why I feel blue without Peggy, my Peggy Sue," Light giggled, "oh well, I love you gal, yes, I love you Peggy Sue".

Light screamed and then struck his ax deep into Kanzo Mogi's corpse. "OH PEGGY, MY PEGGY SUE!" Light screamed, OH WELL, I LOVE YOU, GAL, YES, I LOVE YOU PEGGY SUE!

Light ceased singing and began to laugh uproariously as he continued to hack into what was once a living, recognizable human body. If blood began to spray on Light, then he didn't notice.

_ Just because it's a love story doesn't mean it can't have a decapitation or two._

When Light had finished, he held on to the wall with one hand, panting but satisfied with his work. The ax had apparently either been used rarely or not at all because Light was able to cut through the corpse like a hot knife through butter. Mogi's body now lied in pieces.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down", Light purred to his new best friend.

Light giggled again and continued to stroll down the hallway. This time, he whispered a new song.

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love… you make…"

_ And do you know what happened after I killed him? I didn't weep. I didn't realize the enormous evil I had committed. I just laughed. I just laughed because I thought it was fucking hysterical._

* * *

The Dark Man and Ryuk moved down the corridor. Ryuk wasn't used to moving so quickly, but the speed of the Dark Man forced him to hurry. The Dark Man had a tight schedule, and rapidity was key if his plans were to be followed to the letter.

"You sure you don't want me to do 'em inside the room?" Ryuk chuckled. The idea of writing Light's name in the Death Note was one that appealed to him immensely. After all, the prick could stand to have his ego fall a peg or two.

"I'm very sure about that, Ryuk," The Dark Man said, still striding at a brisk pace. "This all ends with me, not you. You just do your job outside, and I'll do mine inside."

"Well, alright, so long as you make good on your promise to make me all those apple dishes," Ryuk said, "So, what, are you gonna get off on those two dyin' or somethin'?

The Dark Man came to an abrupt halt, and turned to face Ryuk.

"Excuse me?" The Dark Man asked. He did not look amused.

Ryuk suddenly became nervous even though it knew it was irrational for a Shinigami to be afraid of a human. "Well, it's just, uh, you know," Ryuk stammered, "This is your big moment of triumph, isn't it? You're gonna tell me that you're not gonna get any pleasure outta this whatsoever?"

The Dark Man regarded Ryuk coldly, and Ryuk had the very uncomfortable sensation that the Dark Man was studying him, mind, body, and soul. "What I do, I do not for me," he said, "but for the good of all of Earth."

"Oh hey, man, I've got no doubt 'bout that," Ryuk nervously chuckled, "But, I mean, you know that Light is gonna fight you tooth and nails for the throne, don't ya?"

The Dark Man turned away and started to move quickly again. Ryuk nearly let out a sigh of relief but continued to follow the Dark Man. "Should everything go according to plan," the Dark Man said, "And I have no doubt that it will, then Amane will have already completed a large portion of the work for me."

"Yeah, but what if she totally fucked it up?" Ryuk asked.

The Dark Man allowed himself to grin a little, "Well, I guess that means that I'm just going to have to kill God myself".

_ Your blood is in my fists, old mother. _

* * *

"It would appear that Gretel has left some bread crumbs for me to follow," Light snickered as he continued onward. True, a large portion of the facility looked as if someone had set off a grenade inside the stomach of a giant, but if Light squinted his eyes just the right way, he could make out blood stains that were undoubtedly Misa's. Not only were the stains shallow (which would make sense considering how minor Misa's injuries were compared to the rest of these sad fuckers; their blood was actually beginning to coagulate to the pipes and steel meshes), but the stains were also set in a linear pattern. It was obvious that Misa was on the move.

_ When the world is full of care and every headline screams despair, when all is rape, starvation, war and life is vile. Then there's a certain thing I do which I shall pass along to you, that's always guaranteed to make me smile..._

Logic told Light that he should have killed Misa while he had the chance, that he should have pummeled her face into the concrete floor, that he should have doused the place with whatever incendiary fluid he could find, that he should have burnt it all down, and that he should have made his speedy escape thereafter. However, Light was beginning to become tired of logic. Where had logic gotten him after all?

_ I go loo-oo-oony as a light-bulb battered bug, simply loo-oo-oony, sometimes foam and chew the rug... _

Graduation with top honors, the adoration of billions, and several humiliating weeks in the care of a woman who thought Spongebob Squarepants was uproariously funny. Admittedly, the first two accomplishments were all something to be proud of, but Light couldn't help obsessing over that one last dispiriting tidbit.

_ Mister, life is swell in a padded cell, it'll chase those blues away...you can trade your gloom for a rubber room and injections twice a day!_

Find her, Light. Find her and murder her. Hack the body into small, unrecognizable pieces. Then wash the body, so-

"Shut up," Light muttered. Logic was now beginning to irritate him, and he was starting to become tired. Rules, regulations, structures... what good were they? What had they ever gotten him? Awards? Praise? Popularity? They were meaningless to him. Light had studied earnestly at a young age because he had thought that it was fun to learn new things. Then Mom and Dad and all the teachers let him know the truth, that learning wasn't about fun, that it was about getting ahead in life, that those who worked diligently would eventually become happy, but those who slacked off would come to lead grey and meaningless lives.

_ Just go loo-oo-oony, like an acid casualty, or a moo-oo-nie, or a preacher on T.V.!_

So he started studying during just about every waking moment of his days, all to obtain this mythical and coveted sense of peace and joy. He had hoped that at least a trickle of that happiness would have come through while he was measuring the variance of a deck of cards or while he was writing his book report on Macbeth. But it never did.

Until now.

_ When the human race wears an anxious face, when the bomb hangs overhead, when your kid turns blue, it won't worry you, you can smile and nod instead! _

Light stopped and wondered, stunned by the revolutionary nature of his new thought process. Yes, that was it, wasn't it? Logic was nothing more than a figment of the imagination, no more real than Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny! That was the secret to happiness: to understand that logic was inherently, fundamentally, and irreversibly unnecessary! That behind logic hid beautiful madness and unpredictable chaos! Chaos! That was the key! To be free of all intellectual bonds, to survive only on brute impulse, to allow reason and order to wash over him like harmless raindrops!

_ When you're loo-oo-oony, then you just don't give a fig...  
_

My entire life, I've been just like a machine, Light realized, just taking orders and then producing vacuous pieces of work. Why have I never realized just how liberating chaos can be?

_ Man's so pu-uu-uny and the universe so big..!  
_

Be careful, Light told himself, once you start down this road, you may not be able to return.

Piss off, Light thought, I know what I'm doing.

_ If you hurt inside, get certified, and if life should treat you bad..._

No, wait. I don't know what I'm doing, and that's what's going to make this all the more exciting.

Light set off for his destiny with renewed vigor. He took his ax and his erection with him.

_Don't get ee-ee-even, get mad!_

_

* * *

_

Misa burst out the door, exhausted and drained. Thank God that she had memorized the layout to the complex; she had to do her impression of the Ministry of Silly Walks for about one hundred and eighty yards, or one and a half football fields, and the pain wouldn't let up for a moment. Still, Light was right behind her all this time just like a tiger chasing an antelope, and if she had made a wrong turn anywhere then it would have only taken Light a minute or two to permanently alter Misa's facial features. Several ladders, railways, and hallways later, Misa had finally found her way out of the complex. But she wasn't out of the woods yet. There was still one more thing that she had to do to put an end to this madness. The one thing that she had been dreading all this time. The one that she had hoped never to come use.

The shed. Between the spacious tin shed and the complex, Misa was in a field mixed of rock and short grass. It looked like the shed, Misa, and the complex were situated in a vast field. Most of the complex were guarded by thick trees with the exception of a sizable gap that allowed entry. Beyond that, civilization was a long way off. That was one of the most significant points in that deal that she agreed to.

The tin shed's door held a lock, and Misa frantically dug into her pockets to find the key. After finally procuring it, she opened the door and set about to work.

The shed was filled with cabinets and glass cases. The cabinets housed the smaller weapons. The glass cases contained the larger rifles and launchers. Among this was a work bench, some tools, and above the the work bench, several shelves holding several empty buckets, wrenches, screwdrivers, and a tire iron.

Misa rushed over to a horizontally slit of a cabinet already ready to wield the net rifle that was inside. All she had to do now was wait for Light to enter, shoot him, and allow the next to fully envelope him. After that, it was all a matter of getting the dart guns out, waiting until the chemicals kicked in (which wouldn't be too long), and then drag Light's unconscious body to... to...

Well, just call him, I guess, Misa thought, after all, this had all started with him.

_O conspiracy, sham'st thou to show thy dang'rous brow by night, when evils are most free?_

Misa took out another key and opened the cabinet. After inspecting one shotgun, her face fell and she tossed it to the ground. She looked at another one and then another and then finally a fourth one; her demeanor had grown from mildly worried to extremely panicked.

**"Where the fuck is it?"** Misa screeched to no one but herself, **"Where the fuck is the net?"**

Oh God, it wasn't in there, what am I going to do, Misa thought, there's too many cabinets, I don't know which one has the net, if I don't get the net then he'll kill me, goddamn it there's no more time-

Misa grabbed a random shotgun. Maybe she could just use it to frighten Light into submission? Maybe she could make him handcuff himself to the chair again? As she considered all of the non-lethal alternatives to subduing Light, she bended over in such a way that she could not see the door. Thus, when she heard the door creak open, she spun around, gun drawn not surprised but scared shitless over who had arrived.

The setting sun cast shadow and shades of orange onto Light. That and the ax made him look like he just climbed out from Hell. Light resembled a man who was being battled over by composure and ire.

"Well then," Light murmured.

Misa held on to the shotgun as best as she could, but Light could tell that she was no killer. The shotgun was shaking not wildly, but enough so that the average marksman could tell that she was not comfortable with her piece. This diagnosis was all the more feasible due to Misa's panicked expression and ragged breathing.

With a primal roar, Light charged at Misa, brought the ax up, and then swung it down with all of his might. Misa, clearly understanding that shooting and killing Light was not an option, raised the shotgun horizontally above her while holding on to it with both hands. The ax hit the shotgun, but it didn't break through. Light's eyes opened in surprise at Misa's newfound competence, but that soon changed to him snarling at her gross impertinence for refusing to die.

_ You know how this going to end, don't you?_

Without even releasing the ax, Light lifted one leg up and scored a direct kick into Misa's stomach. The kick sent Misa sprawling, but the girl hung tenaciously to her weapon. Light charged at her again, but this time Misa used the butt of her shotgun to jab Light in his shin. Light cried out in both pain and fury and fell to his knees. Though the agony was searing and intense, Light never lost sight of his objective. With one hand still holding on to the ax, Light used his other hand to backhand Misa. Misa hit the floor again but retaliated with a stiff kick to Light's face.

_ Either I'm going to kill you…_

"YOU BROKE MY NOSE, YOU STUPID BITCH!" Light screamed.

…_or you're going to kill me._

Still screaming, Light grabbed the ax with both hands and again swung it downwards at Misa. Barely aware of what she was doing, Misa rolled out of the way, quickly sat up, and hit Light's face with the butt of the shotgun. Misa could hear something crack and knew that she had broken a few of Light's teeth.

Misa had expected Light to lose consciousness. Instead, Light turned his face to meet hers closely, and she knew that she had crossed the point of no return.

"Big mistake, whore," Light growled.

_ Look into my eyes, Faye. One of them is a fake because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I've been seeing the past in one eye, and the present in the other. So I thought I could only see patches of reality, never the whole picture._

Light's hand shot out like a snake and clutched Misa's throat. The grip was strong enough to keep her still, but not enough to deprive her of oxygen. Light picked himself up, and brought Misa with him. Finally, he shoved Misa across the room. The small of Misa's back hit the work bench, and she cried out in pain and surprise. Unfortunately for Misa, the impact reverberated all the way to the few weak shelves lined up with miscellaneous materials right above her. More unfortunate still, this caused the shelves to lose the old ghost once and for all; consequently, all the wrenches, hammers, buckets, and other tools fell onto the poor girl. This time Misa screamed and fell chest first to the cold, hard concrete floor.

_ I thought I was watching a dream that I would never wake up from. Before I knew it, the dream was all over._

Things started to get more gray and surreal for Misa, and when she finally managed to get to her knees and to lift her head up, she wasn't surprised to see Light standing over her with his ax poised for the kill. Misa was hurt though that he was grinning maliciously while getting ready for the big fat kill, and she could feel her heart break a second time.

"End of the yellow brick road, girl," Light snickered, "Any last words?"

"If your enemy is secure at all points, be prepared for him," a voice said, "If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant."

_ What is a friend?_

Light's expression radically changed; where he once looked like a man who had just won the lottery, now he looked like a man who had seen a demon with a flaming skull riding a motorcycle and gunning for him with a chain whip.

"NO NO NO NO!" Light screamed, swinging around, irate that his plans had been ruined once more, "GODDAMMIT, WHAT IS THIS-"

A bullet tore at Light's hands causing him to drop the ax; Light screamed and futilely gripped both of his hands together to stop the bleeding. This new visitor moved so fast in the shadows of the room that Light didn't even get a good look at him; all he saw was a shadow streak gracefully like a black paint brush.

"Hence that general is skillful in attack whose opponent does not know what to defend," the voice said, "and he is skillful in defense whose opponent does not know what to attack".

_ I am NOT your friend. _

Light fell to his knees. He made one last final dash for the ax, but another shot careened it away from him. This new visitor was obviously an expert marksman.

"Who? Who are you?" Light screamed desperately, "Why are you doing this? What is all this?"

There was a pause. Then came the sound of feet moving forward from out of the shadows.

Four steps.

"I am the brother of Dionysus," an outline said.

The outline moved four more steps forward.

"I do this to save the world," an outline with scorching red eyes said.

The outline with scorching red eyes moved four more steps forward.

"And this is the Art of War," said a man with long black hair, a black suit and tie, and scorching red eyes.

Light could barely speak. Never, never could he have thought this to be possible. If anyone was going to have set him up, he would have expected it to have been L. He would have expected a joint operation comprised of several international covert groups. He would have even expected Batman to take a break from knocking the holy hell out of thugs in Gotham in order to plot and execute the capture of Kira.

But Light Yagami never expected this man to betray him.

"Hello, God," Teru Mikami said.

_ZEUS! YOUR SON HAS RETURNED!  
_

* * *

WORKS CITED:

Kill Bill Vol. 2 (Movie)

Hellblazer (Graphic Novel)

Kingdom Hearts (Video Game)

Natural Born Killers (Movie)

Hellboy 2 (Movie)

Final Nightmare (Movie)

Preacher (Graphic Novel)

The Stand (Novel)

Julius Caesar (Play)

The Killing Joke (Graphic Novel)

Cowboy Bebop (Anime)

Batman: Hush (Graphic Novel)

God of War III (Video Game)


	6. Chapter V: Only God Can Judge Me

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

**CHAPTER V: ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME**

And you don't seem to understand  
A shame you seemed an honest man  
And all the fears you hold so dear  
Will turn to whisper in your ear

-Boa

I am just a worthless liar  
I am just an imbecile  
I will only complicate you  
Trust in me and fall as well

-Tool

Did The Devil make the world while God was sleeping?

-Tom Waits

Maybe it's not too late to learn how to love and forget how to hate.

-Ozzy Osbourne

Beware the man of one book

-Saint Thomas Aquinas

Days after the death of Kyosuke Higuchi, the retrieval of the Death Note, and the discovery of the so-called "13 days rule", Light Yagami sat in a leather chair in a private room of the Kira Investigation Team headquarters. Light was grinning, smirking like he had never smirked before. Light was actually smiling so hard that it was beginning to hurt his mouth. However, he didn't mind the pain at this particular moment because everything was (for once) going right. He was finally clear of all suspicion that he was Kira (except with L, who still harbored doubt) and he was able to convince his father and the rest of the idiots that he was completely trustworthy. The remaining six members of Yotsuba were currently under investigation, and this too diverted attention from Light.

Best of all, one of Misa's co-workers had become infatuated with her and had decided to confess days before the sting operation; when she turned him down (What was his name again? Mifune? Miike? Shimizu? Oh well, probably didn't matter.) after work, he tried to kill her with a concealed hand-gun. Twice! This was twice that Misa had been accosted and attacked by some psycho who claimed to love her! As if that wasn't enough, Rem had been watching over Misa that night and had Higuchi's Death Note on her (Higuchi had "business" to attend to in the Red Light District and, with a gun in his briefcase, didn't think it necessary to bring something so valuable along). Rem then wrote down the name of the crazy asshole in her Death Note and consequently killed both herself and the co-worker! And then, for once, Misa had the good sense to give back the Death Note to Higuchi so that she could record his confession that he was Kira. Light was free, finally free, free from L, free from Rem, free from suspicion! Oh God, how good it felt to be back in command once more!

Several obstacles continued to hinder Light's vision for the future, but he was sure that they could be dealt with. After all, the KIT now thought a hell of a lot less of L's competence after learning that Light couldn't possibly be Kira. Simultaneously, Light had the complete trust of everyone in the KIT. Light almost felt sorry for his rival and the seriously disadvantaged role he was now forced to play. Almost.

Light began to drum his fingers on the arm of his chair. What to do now? He lifted himself from his chair, walked to his refrigerator, and searched for the "special occasion only" bottle of Mansfield while whistling a tune that he remembered from Don Giovanni. Killing L is out of the question, Light noted, and besides, I don't want him dead. Not yet anyway. I'd rather see him squirm a little more. That 13 days rule is one of the greatest things I've ever come up with; I don't think I've ever seem that impetuous amphibian so humiliated and frustrated.

I could eliminate Misa, Light pondered as he poured himself a glass. The wine sparkled with promises of a bright future, both for Kira and for Earth. Actually, no, I couldn't do that, Light confessed, Not now, anyway. Her death would obviously be suspect. L is already keeping watch for any abnormal happenstances, and even if he couldn't designate me as a prime suspect following Misa's untimely demise, no one would be able to stop him from watching me like a hawk thereafter.

Besides, I don't even think I've exhausted all of Misa's... "talents", Light continued as he proceeded to sit back down. The simpleton may prove useful yet.

Light smelled his wine, and exhaled with a sense of contentment that he had not known for too long. He chuckled while he took the stem of the glass and began to lightly and delicately stir it around.

Now that I think about it, I can't eliminate anyone right now, Light wondered, At least, not right now. Even with my copy of the Death Note in custody, L knows how I operate. He knows the kind of people I tend to eliminate, when the deaths tend to take place, and where the deaths tend to occur. I've instructed both Higuchi and Misa on how to use the Death Note without any significant alterations in methodology, and though there were bound to be discrepancies, I can't say that I'm surprised that L picked up on them. The problem then, is that no matter what I do, L is likely to pick up my scent, as it were.

Light frowned. Suddenly, the day didn't seem so bright and sunny anymore.

My God, you really are fastidious, aren't you? Light thought, What will it take to satisfy you? L slitting his wrists and then bleeding to death? Take what you can get, and what you have right now, I might add, is considerably advantageous, and use that to the best degree that you can.

Yes, well, excuse me for becoming discouraged, Light replied, I suppose it's only a minuscule matter to always have an opponent who relentlessly tries to to foil your plans at each and every single turn. Oh, and I can only presume that it makes no difference that my enemy is almost, just almost , as skilled as I am.

Look, this isn't as bad as you're making it out to be, Light responded in a calmer, friendlier tone, Think about this: What could happen that would make your life ideal?

It goes without saying that if L needs to be taken care of, Light answered, I'd like to see him die in a glorious moment of shock and bewilderment, but that's not likely to happen, and I think I would be satisfied knowing that it was I that led to his downfall. Eventually, Misa should be disposed of as well. Yes, she's been a useful instrument for the most part, but how can anyone trust someone who falls in love at the drop of a hat? I can't discern precisely what her problem is, but it seems likely that Misa is hiding something from me, or that she's mentally unfit, or both. Her incompetence has already landed me in more than one hot spot; I'd hate to think of what else she's capable of screwing up.

Anything else? Light inquired.

Light thought for a moment. To be perfectly frank, Light responded, I'd love to get rid of Ryuk for a while. Right now, I'm lucky that he's not hovering around me, pestering me to help him find something fun to do. He'll be back of course. Ryuk can only babysit Misa for so long even with my promise of all those apples. God, what I wouldn't give to see that infuriatingly smug smirk of his wiped off his face.

I think you're neglecting to mention something, Light responded.

What I'm neglecting to mention doesn't really matter, Light answered, It can't occur right now, so I fail to see-

Indulge me, Light interrupted.

Light took another, longer sip of his wine. If you must know, Light thought, I would love nothing more than to get my hands back on the Death Note.

Is that possible?

… yes. It's unwise, but it's possible.

Could you do that within the next few weeks?

Light paused. Where was he going with this?

I suppose so...

Well then, that's exactly what we'll do.

Oh, come on! Are you intentionally trying to exasperate me, or have you just not been paying attention? I can't take command of the Death Note right now! I'm under too much scrutiny as it is! Why do you think I have Misa use scraps of her copy in padded karaoke rooms? If I even take one step forward or one step backward from where I am right now-

Good God, you really have no imagination whatsoever. Why don't you cease thinking about this all literally and challenge yourself by thinking about this figuratively?

What are you-

Think about it, Light! What would happen if there were two of you on the battlefield? Wouldn't L be at a serious disadvantage?

The smirk that had vanished minutes ago now wormed itself back into Light's face.

Another me, Light thought. He took a sip of his wine, and found that it tasted even more delicious than before.

That's right, Light responded, no more Higuchi's, no more Misa's, no more inept, unworthy fools. This time, it'll just be you.

Me and my protégé, Light thought with relish.

"The victorious warrior wins the battle before it is even fought", Light recited.

Light got up once more and walked over to where his chess board was. When Kira had been extinguished from his system, he had often played chess, shogi, go, and other strategy based games with L (Light had tried to teach Misa how to play checkers. which he considered to be one of the simpler games that he owned. It didn't go well.). The official reason that Light and L played these games was that it helped keep their minds in shape. However, what neither man was willing to admit was that, despite their strained friendship, they simply enjoyed the fun that came with challenging a worthy opponent.

And here's something I won't admit to L either, Light thought with glee as he picked up his dark horse piece, With all my Kira memories back and coupled with my recollections of his gameplay strategies, I now have an even better idea of how he wages war. Throw another me into the mix, and the tide will turn in my favor. In other words...

Light knocked over L's queen with the dark horse.

I win.

_ The Ancient Japanese considered the Go board to be a microcosm of the universe. Although when it is empty it appears to be simple and ordered, in fact, the possibilities of gameplay are endless. They say that no two Go games have ever been alike. Just like snowflakes. So, the Go board actually represents an extremely complex and chaotic universe. _

* * *

**TWO YEARS AGO**

"I HATE YOU!" Teru Mikami screamed.

Mikami took his baseball bat (which he only possessed in case someone tried to burglarize his house), and then began to bash in his computer. "WORTHLESS, PATHETIC BASTARD! GODDAMN YOU!" he screamed.

Mikami was currently in the process of destroying his entire apartment, his very opulent, very expensive apartment. That included demolishing everything within said apartment, items that had taken him years to accumulate, items that were both rare and priceless. A copy of In Cold Blood, one of the first published, autographed by Truman Capote. A framed photo proudly displaying the moment when Mikami was able meet and speak with both Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune. A large, framed paper duplication of Michelangelo's Last Judgment. These and all other treasures were not exempt from Mikami's fury.

Teru Mikami: success incarnate. The wunderkind of the Japanese judicial system. "Brilliant" underestimated him. Women restrained themselves from throwing themselves at him. A genuine adept, Mikami could master anything he managed to get his hands around, could become anything that he wanted to be. He owned everything that a man of his profession could want. He was a level beyond beautiful, with a sleek yet muscular frame, hair that refused to be tamed, and dark eyes that allured as well as intimidated. And while Mikami could not be considered to be a wealthy man, he still earned a considerable amount of money. Thus, he lived a life that most would envy.

Yet he was tearing apart his home.

Why was Mikami doing this?

The short answer is that Mikami was tearing apart his home because he had just discovered that the purpose behind his life, the single, universal discovery of what causes crime, would never fall into his grasp.

And the long answer?

Well, to know that, you would have to know Teru Mikami.

Teru Mikami was born on June 7, 1982. His only relative was his single mother, and his home was a simple four room apartment for some 14 years. However, just about everyone knew that Mikami was not meant for this modest lifestyle, that he was far too ambitious, that he was far too promising to ever become ensnared in mediocrity. The doctors realized it when they examined him and found that nine times out of 10, the kid was as fit as a fiddle. The teachers realized it when they graded his work and later discovered that no, he hadn't copied the work of an older student. A visiting American chess champion named Robert James Fischer visited Mikami's school in 1996 and indulged the boy in what he thought would be a "teaching" game of chess. It took him three hours to narrowly defeat young Teru. Afterwards, Fischer would personally pay off Mikami's entire college tuition.

As a child of the eighties, Mikami became fascinated with certain cartoons that involved the journey of the hero. Even at a young age, Mikami knew that most of what was shown on television was rubbish, yet he would sit in front of the TV in the living room during the afternoons, and he would watch enthralled as Optimus Prime fought Megatron, as young Goku defended his friends from the likes of Piccolo and Emperor Pilaf, as the Gundam pilots took control of their mechas and then blasted off into certain peril.

However, as fascinated as Mikami was with these programs, he spent a great deal more of his time reading stories also involving the journey of the hero. At first, he had a child's taste for the heroics. Family friendly adaptations of famous samurai stories were devoured by him. He became intimate with Treasure Island, Robin Hood, and Tarzan. He would even read fairy tales, his favorite one being about a Buddhist priest and a fox spirit falling in love with one another. But as Mikami grew older, his literary tastes became more refined and more sophisticated. Texts that his student peers wouldn't come within yards of became common reading material for him. These heroes were Teru's friends and he much preferred them to any "real" friends that his school counselor urged him to make. But why bother with his classmates? They barely knew that he existed, and they thought it strange that he would pore over words that had no meaning to them. Yet Mikami knew the truth: They were the strange ones, they were the misfits, they were the social deviants! How could they not gape in awe as Dante and Virgil escaped from the very last circle of Hell? How could they not cheer when Odysseus was finally reunited with Telemachus and Penelope? And how could they not weep when King Arthur fought his last battle and died in glory and honor? How could they not be affected by these heroes?

It was these heroes that encouraged Teru to stand up for others at school despite all the beatings that he inevitably received. After all, Huo Yuanjia never gave up, even when he suffered one indignity after another. Hercules never quit even when he drained of energy during his legendary 12 labors. And most importantly, because this hero was real and not fictional, the American that they called Batman was selflessly waging his own one-man war against the mafia in a place called Gotham. Maybe these heroes didn't know Teru and maybe they couldn't see what brave deeds he was committing, but if Teru were to ever submit to evil, he would feel like he disappointed everyone who ever inspired him. Thus, Teru took his beatings, and even though the cuts, scrapes, and bruises could be excruciating, the pain was superseded by the pleasing knowledge that he was doing what heroes did.

_Give it up, Bats! I've won! You've lost! Now give up!_

_I'll never give up, Joker! Never!_

And then there was the theater. Little Teru often sought refuge and order from his chaotic world by watching new worlds unfold before his eyes, worlds that made sense, worlds with heroes who would save the day, worlds with villains who would pay the price for their devious plots. When younger, he adored such movies as The Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Princess Bride, and the Star Wars movies (Luckily, Teru's local theater played old and foreign movies, which Mikami was most grateful for with the exception of the ridiculous dubbing.). Of course, as with his books, Mikami's aesthetic tastes grew rapidly, and it did not take long before Bruce Lee, Clint Eastwood, Jackie Chan, and Tomisaburo Wakayama began to give him hope that, in a world of cowardice, perversion, and greed, he could still rise above all the others, that he could still strike down evil, , and that he could ultimately save the world. Teru told no one this because he knew that they wouldn't understand, he knew that they would mock him and laugh at him and say, "Teru, you stupid boy! Don't you know that heroes don't exist? Don't you know that it's only natural for us to sit on our couches and watch our TV's while we let others make our decisions for us? People who try to rise above their station, people who try to be heroes, nothing good comes of them. Look at Martin Luther King. Look at Gandhi. And above all, go take a look at that Christian Messiah if you don't believe us." No, no one ever really told Teru all of this, but he knew they would, oh he knew, so he kept his distance from everyone he suspected of trying to crush his dreams.

One day, while Mikami was playing with his toys in the living room, Ms. Mikami walked in, turned on the TV, and began to watch the news. Although Teru found his Voltron toys to be far more interesting than the old people spouting meaningless babble on the telly, a few key words and images caused him to glance at the screen. Words like "nuclear", "famine", and "revolution" caught his attention. The images had much more of an effect on young Teru: there were people decrying someone named "Thatcher", there were people saying that someone named "Reagan": didn't care about the poor and unemployed, that a man named "Escobar" was running an entire country even though he was a criminal just because everyone feared him and his money. Mikami took these sounds of discontent, added them to the images of injustice, and concluded that the world was in danger and that it needed help. It wasn't enough to simply save Japan; after all, the Japanese inhabited the same planet with everyone else, so it only made sense that someone was going to need to save everyone. But who could do it? The politicians? They were the ones who caused the problems in the first place. The rich? The world could be burning, but they would still only continue to care about their money. The famous and prestigious? Sean Connery played a mean James Bond, but he and his ilk were respected only as celebrities; no one could seriously expect them to step out of their characters and fight unjustness. And as for Teru's heroes? They were largely fictitious, and for some reason religious heroes like Jesus Christ, Gautama Buddha, and Vishnu did not regularly intervene in mortal affairs.

There was only one thing left to do then.

Little Teru Mikami was going to have to save the world himself.

_Dammit Adrian, what are you trying to do?_

_What we always intended-to save the world._

Teru, already a voracious reader, added some variety to his choice of literature in order to learn how to go about becoming a hero, how to find concrete answers in a world that seemed to be filled only with unanswered questions. The nationality, age, and genre of the book didn't matter: Mikami could and did find wisdom in everything he checked out from the books he checked out from the library. Mikami already knew some things about men like Confucius, John Locke, and Ramses the Great, but his knowledge of the fantastic and heroic substantially outweighed his knowledge of the what people called "reality". Mikami expected to work while studying these texts; he did not expect to have fun, let alone make new friends. A legendary samurai named Miyamoto Musashi taught Teru approach situations without tenseness yet not recklessly, with a spirit settled yet unbiased. An American named Crazy Horse told Teru how this world was just the shadow of the real world, how everything was weightless and floated in the real world, and how he was able to win so many battles unscathed just by thinking of the true world. Carl Sagan, Socrates, Lao-Tzu, Hannibal Barcas... They all became Teru's mentors, and they all imparted sacred wisdom to their eager pupil.

However, there were two men that Teru revered above all. One was Joseph Campbell, the American father of mythology. Campbell may not have been a hero in the strictest sense of the word, but no one could deny that he was a genius who knew everything there was to know about heroics, philosophy, and religion. Moreover, Campbell was the first man to ever intimidate Teru with his vast intellect, something that had never occurred to the young man before. Through Campbell, Teru learned what it meant to be a hero, and while he doubted he would ever meet him, Teru felt closer to Campbell than he did to anyone else.

Sun-Tzu was the exception to this. Teru did not know which man he valued more, but he eventually assumed that it didn't matter. This wasn't a competition after all. This was war, a subject that Sun-Tzu and his book, _The Art of War_, were quite familiar with. Through Sun-Tzu, Mikami became far more meticulous and thoughtful, learned how to bide his time and wait, discovered how an effective leader had to lead by examples and not by force. Thus, Teru resolved to tackle evil sincerely and openly, hiding nothing, the way a true hero would.

His mother didn't want him to, of course. She told him that defending others was foolish and dangerous, and that he couldn't change the world that way. However, Teru could tell that Ms. Mikami didn't want him to be a hero for very different reasons altogether: she was afraid. They were all afraid. Everyone was afraid of a world where evil would finally be dead once and for all, where they would have no one else to blame but themselves if crime were to occur. They needed people to point their fingers at, they needed people to disagree with, they needed people they could call enemies, and they needed conflict. Humans had been doing these things for so long that the very process had become a natural way of life for them, and they were simply too scared to deviate from a lifestyle even if it promised their mutual annihilation. But Teru wasn't scared. Teru knew the truth, and that was his greatest weapon. No one could escape justice: not Bonaparte, not Hitler, not Nixon. And Teru was going to insure that evil be stamped out of Earth for good or else die trying.

_You can't do this, Todd. _

_You have no fucking idea what I can do!_

When Ms. Mikami died, a casualty in a car accident that also took the lives of four students who relentlessly bullied Teru, his feelings were mixed. At first, he grieved for his mother, a woman that he genuinely loved even if she was nothing but a quotidian coward. He initially rejoiced in the deaths of his antagonists, but then felt guilty for celebrating something so grisly. However, after the funeral and mourning were complete and Teru returned back to school, he was more than surprised to witness his classmate's behavior: They were happy! They were happy that the bullies were dead, that there was no one to torment them any longer! No one even shed a tear for the lives that were, as the principal put it, "senselessly lost in an accident that has robbed the world of much potential". Mikami almost laughed when he heard this hypocrisy blare out of the P.A. system. Potential? Those miscreants had no potential! They were scum, and everyone was glad that they were dead, but no one would admit it!

After Mikami told his class exactly what he thought of the whole charade, he was sent to see a non-Japanese psychiatrist whose nationality and ethnicity remained a mystery for Teru. Indeed, the man acted as if he could have been born in any country. True, he was Caucasian, but that didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. More importantly, Doctor Aria Blench Lent was an incredibly prominent scientist (who, strangely enough, seemed to drop from out of nowhere), and Teru's counselor was astonished not just when Dr. Lent offered to examine the boy, but also to do it for free.

"I've seen the boy before," Dr. Lent said with a congenial smile, "Walking the streets. Despite whatever trauma he may have suffered, there's something quite extraordinary about him, something that one can literally sense. Don't you agree?"

Thus, Teru was sent to see Dr. Lent, and the two got on famously. At first, Teru was reticent, sure that this sophisticated, polite stranger was simply a pawn of the establishment, yet another way to trap him into submitting to conformity. When Teru refused to speak, Dr. Lent began discussing his childhood, how he was raised in Lithuania during World War Two, how his sister Mischa was killed in an explosion, how he traveled to Paris, how he fell in love with his widowed aunt, a Japanese woman named Lady Murasaki. Eventually, Teru told some things about himself to Dr. Lent, and Dr. Lent reciprocated by telling Teru some more things about himself. The two discussed William Blake, Marcus Aurelius, and Sun Tzu while they spoke. They eventually ate lunch, Mikami eating a simple bento box meal while Dr. Lent dined on liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. Dr. Lent allowed Teru to try some of the liver, which Teru thought tasted somewhat like pork.

_A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver for dinner with some fava beans and a nice chianti. _

By the end of their conversation, Teru had told Dr. Lent everything that he could about himself. Teru liked Dr. Lent immensely, but was expecting some sort of lecture from him. Instead, Teru was quite stunned when the doctor gave him his final diagnosis.

"My dear Teru," Dr. Lent said, "In my humble opinion, there's absolutely nothing wrong with you. Indeed, you are the prodigal son; I can only see good things for you and your future. You have a strong sense of justice, and you can't help the fact that others ostracize you because you insist on abiding by your principles. Be wise, Teru, and do not listen to them! Do not become one of them! Stay true to yourself, and in time you shall become something far greater than you are now. And above all, do not forget what our mutual friend Joseph Campbell said: Follow your bliss."

Afterwards, Dr. Lent advised Teru to tell no one of what he had been told, that they wouldn't understand, that they would only belittle him further. "You'll want to remain as unostentatious as you can with regards to these matters," Dr. Lent said, "So go along with what they say. Pretend to yield to their astigmatic concepts of justice. But do not ever forget who you are, and what you are destined to accomplish. You do that, my young friend, and I promise you that you shall transform into something that people can only dream about."

"Goodbye, brave Teru," Dr. Lent said while Teru exited his office, "I expect to hear wonderful things about you in the future. You will let me know when you save the world, won't you?"

Afterwards, life continued for Mikami pretty much as people guessed that it would: perfectly. Mikami earned the highest grades in his school, excelling in all subjects. He went on to Tokyo U, earning a 99% score on his entrance exams. The school didn't believe that someone could receive so high a score on so difficult a test, so they had him take the test again. The second time around, he earned 100%. The school admitted him without question, and Teru made his presence known in each and every single class he took, listening to each and every single word that the professors uttered, sometimes questioning the instructors so harshly that what was once a lecture almost became an interrogation. In only a few weeks time, Teru unwittingly and unwillingly became the undisputed king of Tokyo U. Professors either despised Teru for his impudence or venerated him for his work ethic. Students, male and female alike, constantly attempted to interact with Teru, something that confused him more than flattered him. Why were these young men asking him to "chill" with them at their fraternities? Why were these young women shyly asking Teru if he wanted to go "catch" a movie with them? Didn't these people have work to do? Were they not all students, admitted to a life of further education and development? Ah, but their lives were none of his business. Teru focused on only one thing during those college years, and that was himself.

Mikami would eventually graduate with a 3.8 GPA; he would have graduated with a 4.0 GPA, but his law professor, one Hiromu Arakawa, marked down his final paper after he had delivered a twelve and a half page essay instead of the twelve page paper that she had instructed. This had absolutely nothing to do with his writing Arakawa's name down in the Death Note years later.

In any event, it was an American lawyer named Matt Murdock who inspired Mikami to major in law: despite being blind, Murdock bravely prosecuted Wilson Fisk, a.k.a. "Kingpin", virtually the ruler and owner of everything criminal in New York City. That a single man, let alone a handicapped man, would even dare to publicly criticize Fisk was awe-inspiring in itself, but Murdock went up and beyond his call by actually sending the smug, obese, and utterly terrifying felon to prison. Murdock was undeniably a hero, the exact kind of hero that Teru had wanted to be his entire life. And so, he decided to become an attorney, an occupation he easily landed.

_Do you see this? Do you? Take a good look, people, because this man is no more! I am tired of saving you! I am tired of saving you only to find you returning to the same crime that this man operates! No more! Do you hear me? No more! There will be no more drugs! There will be no more pimps! There will be no more bribery, no more hits, no more gambling, no more crime! Fisk is gone! I am the new Kingpin! And if you cross me, you will wind up just like him! Just like him!_

Before Kira and the Death Note appeared in his life, it had been mostly drudgery. Being an attorney had been exciting at first, but then it had ultimately become dull and repetitive. Mikami won his court cases about 98% of the time; the remaining 2% were cases that were acquitted due to compromised police protocol. In order to alleviate his ennui, Mikami continued to pursue a line of study that he had started as a child: the discovery of a single, universal cause of crime. Once he found that cause, he would be able to find the cure.

Despite all the years that he had spent studying, Mikami couldn't say for certain what caused people to become such monsters. Was there something missing from the brain, something that disabled the functions of empathy and sympathy, as was the case of Anton Chigurh, an assassin whose recent capture by U.S. Law Enforcement delighted psychologists and criminologists to no end? Were they born evil, as in the case of Michael Myers, the psychopath serial killer who terrorized small-town America back in the seventies? Were both approaches correct? Was there any way to account for the Hannibal Lecters, the Jeffery Dahmer, the Jim Jones, and all of the other freaks in the world?

Mikami simply didn't care.

_You're no better than any of us, Castle! You're nothing more than a killer! A psychopath! A lunatic! When you die, I promise you that you will burn in Hell! Do you hear me, Castle? You are damned!_

_So tell me something I don't know, Ma._

Once upon a time, Mikami did care. He had cared not just for punishing criminals, but also about rooting out whatever it was that caused conditions for crimes in the first place. It was only recently that Mikami had understood that it was his naiveté that had led him to believe that despite the all the disparate elements of culture, time, mental health, financial background, and personal upbringing, there was still a fundamental pattern that could be found in the chaos that was the concept of Crime. Mikami's theory was that by studying and learning this pattern , he would be able to take a step toward permanently eradicating crime. Mikami worked his hands to the bone as a student in order to find this pattern. He went nights without sleep, studying all the while, only stopping when his mind refused to process anymore information. Mikami had no friends during those years, but he had plenty of teachers. While other students were out partying, Mikami was studying Freud. While other students went drinking, Mikami read Jung. And while all the male students executed their plans to get into the pants of their female peers, Mikami watched videos of interrogations and court cases `in order to watch the behavior of the criminal in question. Mikami studied any and all subjects that he thought might lead him onto the trail of the pattern: criminology, sociology, literature, psychology, history. He became the disciple of Edgar Allen Poe, of Aristotle, of Hannibal Lecter (Mikami was not fond of Lecter's disregard for law but still found his contributions to Psychology Today to be ingenious).

It had all happened so suddenly. Mikami had simply been reading Helter Skelter when the thought came to him entirely out of the blue. You're not going to find it, his mind abruptly stated, In fact, you're never going to find the pattern. It may or may not exist, but it's far too complex for anyone, even you, to unearth it and understand it. You have wasted all of these years, years that you will never be able to retrieve. How does it feel to know that you're nothing more than an utter, absolute failure, Teru Mikami?

Mikami sat in silence for some time, staring blankly at the wall, trying to formulate some response that would convince him that none of this was true, that he hadn't wasted all of those years on some wild goose chase, that while he had not discovered the entire pattern, he must have at least learned some of it, and it would just take him a little longer to discern all of it. After all, the alternative premise, that Mikami had spent all of these precious years searching for a ghost, was simply unfair. Yes, the world was unfair, but this was too unfair. Mikami was willing to tolerate this disgusting, wretched world of his, but he was not willing to accept the idea that he was all the more closer to meeting and without anything to show for it.

Mikami sat and tried to believe in what he wanted to believe in.

He could not.

Mikami did not respond well to the revelation.

_We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you? _

With a roar of primeval rage, Mikami set about destroying his apartment. The porcelain lamp was thrown at the wall. The TV screen was kicked in. Mikami threw the literary works of all his old mentors, of Thomas Hobbes, of Immanuel Kant, of William Faulkner and others across the room. He took his baseball bat, and obliterated his computer with it, destroying all of the article, files, and documents that he had poured his heart and soul into for the last few years. Everything and anything in his room became game.

There was no reason behind Mikami's actions. Mikami knew that nothing worthwhile would be achieved by his violent, wanton acts except for one small, minor thing: He would at least be able to finally unleash it all, all the disappointments, all the frustrations, all the impatience, all the bitterness, to pour it all out of a vessel seething with poisonous tension. For once in his life, Mikami released himself completely and gave in to the savage past of all humanity that tempted him every single day, just as it had tempted countless others.

When it was all said and done, Mikami lay on the floor wheezing, panting, spent. The apartment was a mess, looking like a horse high on acid had been allowed to rampage across it. The costs that it would take to repair all the damage would be steep and probably out of his price range.

Mikami's dream was dead, gone, and irretrievable. He no longer had a purpose for living. Everything that he had ever wanted to accomplish was swept away like sand in the wind. In effect, he was dead, a ghost without a shell, a soul without a home.

No.

Mikami lifted himself up off the floor and felt his blood surge through his veins as he had never felt them do before, hot, throbbing, and full of life. So he would never find the pattern; what of it? There were still other paths to consider. If he couldn't root out the source of crime, why, he would just hack and slash at the thorns and vines until it was thoroughly eradicated. An overwhelming aspiration? Yes, but his overwhelming intellect qualified him for the job. Mikami remembered once a Sherlock Holmes story in which the detective said that his own powers of deduction were extraordinary, but that this claim was not a result of arrogance nor of conceit: it was merely reality, and Holmes, a man whose very life depended on logic, had no time for modesty. Facts were facts, and without facts Holmes had nothing.

This was also the case with Mikami: He was a genius and he knew it, not because he was egotistical but because it was simply true. It was as undeniable as a circle being round or a square having four corners. It was what it was and it is what it is.

Mikami grinned for the first time in a very long time, a time so vast that he could not even remember when he had last done so. And he laughed, but this was not the jovial. laugh of someone who had been told a genuinely funny joke or who has been watching a Marx Brothers movie; it was the laugh of a knight who looked out across the battlefield and saw that before the day was through, he would have to butcher scores, dozens, and even hundreds of men.

_Heh. It's all a joke. It's all a joke._

"SO THIS IS WHAT IT'S COME DOWN TO, HUH?" Mikami shouted at the world, "YOU VERSUS ME! NO MERCY! NO PITY! NO REMORSE! WELL, LET'S DO THIS, MOTHERFUCKERS! I'M COMING TO GET YOU, AND NOTHING YOU SAY AND NOTHING YOU DO WILL APPEASE ME! GET READY, YOU BASTARDS BECAUSE THIS MEANS WAR!"

Mikami burst back into manic laughter to the point where he could hardly breathe, laying on the floor, curled like a fetus, and holding himself helpfully as tears of lunatic humor involuntarily fell from his eyes.

After what could have been either minutes or hours, Mikami finally lifted himself off the floor and dragged himself to the bathroom. There he splashed some water on his face and, after drying his face with a towel, took a good, long, hard look at himself. The smiles and laughs were gone. From here on end, there would be no more joy, no more laughter, and no more giggles. Those things would soon become foreign to Mikami. Laughing like that had not just felt good, but had served as a release, a momentary reprieve from another world of incessant murder and steadfast evil. Now, as he began his new mission, he would have to re-enter Hell, an angel of death assigned to the task of detaining demons disguised in human flesh.

Mikami thought about all this as he stared at himself in the mirror. His stoic face returned in anticipation of all that he would have to face eventually and inevitably.

But this time, he would show no mercy.

"Eliminate," he whispered.

_See, Kevin, in order to find the killer, I had to think like the killer. And eventually, that helped me stop him. But I couldn't stop thinking like him. Death began to excite me. The idea of killing someone, of having power over them began to excite me. So I went to the hospital. And then I got all better. Getting excited over murder, Kevin... that's just wrong._

_Killing somebody feels that bad?_

_Kevin, it's the ugliest thing in the world. _

* * *

**TWO YEARS LATER**

"Kiyomi? Are you here?" Light asked as he entered the apartment of Kiyomi Takada, "I got your message. Who did you select to be my proxy? Was he-"

Takada stepped out from her hallway, adorned in prurient black lingerie. The woman had obviously taken effort to beautify herself for her guest's arrival. She had put on crimson lipstick, black eyeliner, and black eye shadow. Light could smell perfume coming off of her, one that reminded him of strawberries and champagne, not too light, not too heavy. Takada's hair was usually efficient in itself; there was nothing extraordinarily creative about it, but it allowed people to focus on her resplendent face, and that was often enough for her. However, this day, she must have shampooed and combed her hair several times because without even touching it, Light knew that it would be silky, soft, and exquisite. It was no exaggeration to say that the woman who stood before Light could be compared to the likes of Cleopatra, of Athena, of Marilyn Monroe.

Light prevented himself from sighing. He had just wanted to get the information that Takada promised him, make out for a bit, maybe perform some cunnilingus to keep her content, and then get back to work. However, it was obvious that Takada wanted to go the whole nine yards with him that night. And he couldn't turn her down, not at this point anyway.

It had only been a few days ago that Light had confessed to Takada, one of Japan's most popular and most prestigious anchorwomen as well as his old flame, that he was indeed Kira. This much was the true. What wasn't so much true was when Light promised Takada that he would eventually kill off Misa so that Takada would become Kira's queen. All that could happen in the future, but Light wasn't committing to anything. Light could see himself killing Misa in order to make room for Takada, but then again, he could also see himself killing Takada in order to make room for Misa. Hell, he could even see himself killing the two on the exact same day if he thought that they were no longer conducive to his crusade for justice. Of course, Light thought wryly, there was really no point in thinking that far ahead.

Light had told Takada everything that she had wanted to hear. He told her that he had always been in love with her, but that he didn't want to commit himself to a relationship where her very life would be in danger. He promised her that he had never loved Misa, and that he had only become her boyfriend so that he could use her as a pawn. He praised her incessantly, said that she was brilliant, that she was beautiful, that he didn't deserve her but couldn't live without her, and that with her by his side, they could turn Earth into Heaven.

_Fuck her, let's go get a sandwich!_

It was all a load of bullocks, of course. Light didn't love Takada; hell, he didn't even like her. Admittedly, Takada was both apt and gorgeous, but that was only the case when Light compared her to the laywoman. However, when it came to Light's own standards, Takada fell very, very short.

"So," Takada said beaming, twirling so that Light could look at every part of her, "what do you think?"

Light began to think about the future. He thought about how Kira would be worshiped, about how Kira would become the one true god of all people, and how soon the world would be populated with only scrupulous people in it.

Light's member quickly hardened, and he had to prevent himself from smirking. Trick worked all the time.

"You look delicious," Light said, moving towards Takada. He embraced her, and the two began to kiss, lips and tongue intertwining. Takada moaned, and Light could have chuckled at the irony of the situation. Who could have known that someone like Takada, a woman that many considered to be an ice queen, could have been no more than putty for someone like Light? He almost pitied her for this.

"Almost" being the operative word.

When Light broke the kiss, he made his eyes as sensitive as he could and whispered, "I just need to freshen up for a moment. Be right back, OK?"

"Alright, but hurry up," Takada said, giving Light one last kiss, "I just can't wait to tap that gorgeous ass of yours."

Light turned away from Takada, and his face instantly became set in a grimace as he walked to the bathroom. He entered it, turned on the sink, splashed some water on his face, and tried to plan the rest of the evening from his current position. If he wanted to, he could have gotten out of this by telling Takada that he had just received a call on his cell phone and that there was an emergency that required his immediate attention. He would have to create some emergency himself (maybe Matsuda would decide to hang himself...), but Light already knew that this wasn't a wise enterprise. Fucking Takada was a waste of his time, but it wasn't torture, and it would be best to use a getaway ruse when he really needed it.

Light stepped into the shower, and turned on the water. Instantly, he could hear Takada call, "Light, why are you showering? Get out here so I can ravish you!"

"It's been a long day, love," Light said, cringing that he had to use that last word, "and I've been sweating something awful. I just need to scrub myself down; it shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes!"

"Well, OK," Takada acquiesced, "you just make sure that that fine piece of ass of yours is ready for me when you come out. I intend to give you the time of your life tonight, hot stuff!"

With the sound of the hot steaming water running down his well-toned body, Light allowed himself to growl in irritation. God, what was wrong with this woman's libido? Light didn't mind fucking her once or twice a week, but Takada wanted him just about every hour of the day.

Oh, Takada, Light thought, if only you knew what I knew. If only you were aware that I am Light Yagami, the alpha, the omega, the greatest mind on the planet, and you're nothing more than another pawn. Maybe I'll get the chance to tell you someday after I'm through with you. How will you react? Will you cry? Will you scream? Will you be broken, thoroughly and completely? Will you even care at that point if I were to tell you that I wrote your name down? The possibilities are endless and tantalizing, aren't they, my dear whore?

Light chuckled, lathering himself with soap. If he thought about this façade that way, it almost became fun.

Takada simply wasn't enough to impress Light. Yes, Takada was ravishing and gorgeous and breathtaking and what not, but none of that really made Light want to include her in his life. Takada was capable enough to accomplish what Light wanted, but she wasn't competent enough to, say, become an adequate rival of his. Not that Light wanted a rival of course; he just wanted someone with that potential to be serving under him. Sadly, Takada was not that disciple, and Light doubted that such a being even existed.

Of course, compared to Misa, Takada was Stephen Hawkings.

Of course, compared to Misa, anyone with an average level of intelligence was Stephen Hawkings.

Light had hoped that fucking Takada would at least be the icing on the proverbial cake, but his more intimate moments with her turned out to be disappointing. Takada had probably banged a few men before Light because she obviously knew what she was doing, and Light had to admit that if he were as obsessed with the flesh as the rest of his insular and vulgar peers, he would probably enjoy her skills immensely. Sadly, Light's heart simply wasn't into the sex. Light knew that he had been attracted to Takada when he had first met her years ago, but he had been so distracted with the Death Note then that the attraction was superficial at best. It was like looking at a really nice, expensive car and acknowledging that it was a beaut, but you then realized that you didn't need the car at this particular time of your life, and you could always go back and acquire it later if you really wanted to.

_I'll bet you think that you woke me up about the flesh, don't you? But you only know society's straight line about the flesh! You can't penetrate beyond society's sick gray fear of the flesh! Drink deep or taste not the plasma spring! You see what I'm saying? I'm not just talking about sex and penetration, I'm talking about penetration beyond the veil of the flesh! A deep, penetrating dive into the plasma pool!_

Not that Light was gay. Hell, Light couldn't ever recall finding a man to be attractive. However, just like any other person, Light could tell whether a man was good-looking or not. Some men refused to admit that they had this ability, and they accused anyone who confessed to having such powers as being "faggots". Ironically, most of the time it was these very same homophobes who were the true faggots. Light couldn't help but snicker at the foibles of the modern man: They were so obsessed with virility that they would do just about anything to prove that they were "men" and not "sissies". If Light didn't think that such stupidity deserved condemnation, then he might have pitied them the same way that a man might pity an ant for being so small and insignificant.

Despite Light's more enlightened attitude regarding homosexuality, he was aware of the rumors that circulated during college about him and Ryuzaki being "butt-buddies." Quite naturally, this made Light rather upset. Indeed, Light was so beside himself that he nearly wrote the names of three quarters of the school's students and professors into the Death Note. However, Light soon settled down, and he decided to kill only a quarter of the people on his list.

Light knew that he shouldn't have become so irate over the suggestion that he and L loved one another, but he simply couldn't help it. After all, Light loathed L, and he knew that Hell would freeze over before those feelings ever changed, let alone that he would fall in love with him. Even if Light did not detest L so much, Light would still be hard pressed not to think of L as something that was the result of an iguana mating with a seventeenth century Russian peasant.

But that's neither here nor there, Light thought, rubbing shampoo through his hair, What is very much here and there is that I get Takada to tell me her progress.

Light turned off the shower, and thought while he dried himself down. A cruel smile played across his lips.

"All too easy", Light murmured.

Light got down on his hands and knees and began doing a set of push-ups. After reaching twenty five, he got up and did some twenty five leg squats. He repeated this two more times. When he finished and looked in the mirror, he saw that the exercise had its desired effect. He managed to make himself look a little more muscular simply due to his exertion, something that would be sure to turn on Takada even more.

"Light, are you done yet?" Takada called. It sounded like half a question and half a plea.

"I don't know Takada," Light said, stepping out of the bathroom, completely naked, "Why don't you tell me?"

Takada gaped at what she saw. He could have been Adonis. He could have been Thor. He could have even been Lucifer himself (back when he was an angel of course). But he wasn't any of these men; he was Light Yagami, and when he walked towards her, even bigger than before, she couldn't stop her knees from slightly shaking.

"It's been a long day, Kiyomi," Light said, gently rubbing his hand against her face, "Why don't you 'relieve' me first?"

Takada instantly got the point. With no hesitation whatsoever, she dropped to her knees, and took Light's cock into her hand. But just as she was about to help him alleviate his stress, Light put a hand over his groin. Takada looked up at him disappointed and confused like a child who was given a candy bar only to have it snatched away from her.

"But now that I think about it," Light said, hoping that he didn't sound like he was enjoying this, "Business should always come before pleasure, don't you think? Especially when you consider that the world itself is at stake."

"I guess so..." Takada said, not sounding very enthusiastic.

"I knew you would see things my way," Light smiled, "Now... did you get me my proxy?"

"Light, can't this wait until after we're done?" Takada whined, "I've been looking forward to this all day, and I'm so horny and-"

"No!" Light said, louder than he meant. Takada winced a little, and Light cursed his impatience. Composing himself, he looked at her with friendlier eyes, "Kiyomi, I want this just as much as you do, but it is imperative that the KIT becomes unable to establish a pattern of Kira's executed criminals. I need to give the book to someone trustworthy for awhile, then take the book back, and allow pattern can continue just like that. We cannot allow any M.O. to become discernible, understand?

"Yes," Takada said quietly.

"Wonderful!" Light smiled, "So you got me my proxy?"

"I did," Takada said in a meek voice.

"Very good!", Light smiled again causing Takada's heart to melt, "And?"

"He's an old high school classmate of mine," Takada said, "We were never really friends, but we studied together a lot, so I should still have his phone number."

"What are his qualifications?" Light asked.

"He's a very successful and prestigious attorney," Takada said. "He graduated at the top of his class at Tokyo U, he's written for a wide variety of different publications, and, of course, he is incredibly brilliant."

"Not as brilliant as you though," she quickly added.

Light ignored Takada's petty attempt to rectify what she perceived to be a comparison that would make Light jealous. The idea that anyone, even this Tokyo U graduate, could pose any threat to him was ludicrous.

"Anything else?" Light asked.

"He's a huge supporter of Kira", Takada said with a wry grin.

"He sounds perfect", Light said, "What's his name?"

"Mikami," Takada said, "Teru Mikami."

Light lifted his hand and raised both of his arms up. "Bon appétit," he whispered with a coy smile.

Takada eagerly began doing her best to please the only man she had ever loved. Light made all the appropriate and expected noises, but he could only faintly experience the bliss being bestowed upon his nether region. His mind was in other places; he was sure that he had heard that name Mikami before.

Ah, yes. Light had once read an article by him in the Japanese Psychology Association magazine, in which Mikami argued that, as opposed to Philip Zimbardo's findings obtained via his Stanford prison experiment, all it would really take was one bad day to completely demolish a person's original character and replace it with something far more sinister. Light recalled being taken aback by this article, not because he disagreed with it, but because he had finally encountered material that actually challenged him. All it took was that one single article to convince Light that while Mikami could not possibly have been his equal, he was at least close to it.

And now he's going to serve me, Light thought, Oh, life is sweet. Life is sweet indeed.

God was finally going to get his Jesus.

_Who can delude a lover?_

_

* * *

_

**THREE DAYS LATER**

Mikami dropped his phone, numb with a euphoric sense of glee. His face had fixed itself into a rare smile, and while this new experience was somewhat uncomfortable for his face, his mind was too occupied with what had just happened to bother with such small trifling details like pain. Indeed, Mikami was close to swooning, and he placed a hand on his cabinet to keep himself steady.

Kiyomi Takada, an old classmate of his, had just called out of the blue. She told him that she was currently working with his favorite "political activist" and inquired whether he would be interested in supporting the "cause". Mikami, a public supporter of Kira, knew precisely what Takada was insinuating. Mikami responded by avidly assuring Takada that he was indeed interested in helping out "Mr. Knight" in whatever way he could, whenever he could, and however he could. Mikami lost track of time amidst his ramblings, and eventually Takada cut him off with the promise that yes, she would let Mr. Knight know just how big a fan Mikami was of his, yes, Mikami would receive his first assignment soon, and no, this wasn't a dream, so yes, he could stop pinching himself.

"Yes," Mikami whispered, He started pacing around his living room, experiencing a surge of adrenaline that he had not known for so long and loving every bit of it.

"Yes!" Mikami cried out, louder now, "Yes yes yes yes YES!"

Mikami began to laugh, and this too was rare yet welcome. After all, he hadn't laughed in two years. The laughter came in rich waves, and it was genuine, not acrid. For too long now, he had laughed at mankind and all their flaws just to prevent himself from crying, but even then the laughs were just impotent snickers. But now, Mikami's laughter was louder than ever before, and why shouldn't it have been? He had finally won. He had finally proven that cynical, doubting voice in his head wrong. All the work, all that time, all those sacrifices he had made, they weren't for naught! He had finally been rewarded! He had finally been recognized! He had finally been saved!

"YES!" Mikami laughed, not caring if he disturbed his neighbors at this late hour, not caring if the entire world was awakened from its collective slumber. He had dedicated his entire life towards trying to save the world, and he deserved to celebrate this moment as loudly and exuberantly as he wanted. "YES YES YES!"

Mikami suddenly and abruptly rushed from his living room, barged through his balcony doors, and embraced the heavy, dense rain that fell on him. Despite being on the thirteenth floor of his apartment building, and despite the lightning striking the evening sky, he was not afraid nor would he ever have to be afraid again. Kira had selected him, and all was as it finally should have been.

With one simple phone call, it had all finally been achieved.

Japan had been saved.

Earth had been saved.

Teru Mikami had been saved.

"I HAVE OBTAINED SALVATION!" Mikami screamed triumphantly at the heavens, his arms raised as if to catch the moon, "SALVATION!"

The lightning flashed, and the thunder cracked. And when it rained in Tokyo, it rained hard.

But Mikami continued to laugh because no matter what would occur in the future, whether good or ill, this night, this moment would always be his.

Always.

_The night is yours, Evey. Seize it. Encircle it within your arms. Bury it in your heart up to the hilt. Become transfixed and transfigured –_

_Forever. _

* * *

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

Light Yagami sat miserably on his bed in his room with his face in his hands. Misa had gone shopping for clothes, and although his wasteful girlfriend tended to overspend their money on whatever unnecessary clothing her little capricious mind and short attention span valued at the moment, he was still glad that she was gone. If Misa were there, then she would just try to comfort Light by cuddling with him, and he wouldn't be able to guarantee that he wouldn't try to smash her face into his dresser.

Everything had been going great with Mikami. He was everything that Light had wanted in an executor: relentless, driven, loyal, and intelligent. In his first week alone, Mikami had written the names of over four hundred people into his Death Note. From that alone, it was clearly evident that Mikami had what it took to be a true disciple of Kira. Moreover, from what Takada had told Light, Mikami had reacted with sheer joy when she had extended Kira's offer to him. Takada had emphasized to Light that smiling was as rare for Mikami as hearing was for the deaf.

"I really think you're making the right choice here," Takada had told Light, "Oh, you should have seen Teru; he was so happy, happier than I think he has been in quite a while. I can practically guarantee you that he's going to make your life so much easier."

It's a good thing you used the word "practically" there, Light thought, because if you had simply guaranteed me that Mikami wasn't going to turn my life into Hell, I would have stuffed your body down a wood-chipper by now.

Things with Mikami were not going well, but the problem clearly was not that Mikami was inadequate. The problem was that Kira's right hand man was far too proficient. Mikami killed the criminals that he was instructed to eliminate, but he also execute anyone and everyone he thought was detrimental to society. Light's criterion for criminals who deserved death was simple enough: anyone who, at the very least, put others at risk for his or her own advantage. Thus, gangsters, dirty cops, corrupt politicians, pushers, pimps, thugs, and unscrupulous businesspeople were all game. Mikami's list of criminals who deserved death was, by comparison, somewhat more expansive.

A morbidly obese cashier in Jalisco, Mexico. A pathological nymphomaniac in Ennis, Ireland. A boxer in Jaa, Thailand, who was notorious for his excessive aggression. These were the types of people that Mikami thought deserved death. They were obviously petty transgressions, and while Light could not help but sneer in disgust at their respective behaviors, he was sensible enough to know that Mikami had crossed the line. Moreover, Mikami was actually eliminating people with terminal illnesses just so he could "alleviate" their plights! Now just about everyone with AIDS and cancer thought of Kira as a bogeyman who could strike at any moment, not as a god they could pray to with hopes of salvation (OK, so he couldn't actually cure these people, but still...). The entire image that Light had tried to construct for Kira as an intimidating yet compassionate and just god was now being undermined by the exact same individual Light had hoped would make life easier for him!

I don't know what I hate more right now, Light thought now clenching his hands while involuntarily clenching his teeth, That idiot, or my own naiveté. Dad was right: If you really do want a job done right, then you've got to do it yourself.

Well, I don't know about that, Light thought, Yes, Mikami has been mucking up a lot of the work we've accomplished, but-

Oh, shut up! Light retorted, You think I'm going to listen to you now after your brilliant suggestion that find myself an apprentice? What was the term you used? Another 'me'? Yes, well, if he's another me, then he's a warped, sadistic serial killer version of me!

You're panicking, Light noted, and you're beginning to lose your cool. Why don't you just confess to L and admit you're Kira while you're at it? Because if you keep this kind of attitude up, then I guarantee that you'll make a mistake. And at this point, you can't afford that. If L begins to notice that you're becoming angrier and angrier for no apparent reason, then he will investigate you again, and he will eventually be able to put the puzzle pieces together. So smoke a joint, drink some beer, play some video games, do whatever it is that you have to do to release some steam, but do not fuck this up for us! You are better than that!

Light sighed and became less tense. His hands dropped, and he lay down on his bed, staring silently at the ceiling, not thinking of anything in particular, just letting his mind rest for a bit.

There was only one thing to do then.

Kira was going to have to speak with Mikami.

_May God grant you the mercy that I cannot._

* * *

**ONE WEEK LATER**

It was a perfectly find day with no signs of forebodings. The sun was out and shining, and while the birds were really telling other birds which territory was theirs, it sounded much like peaceful music. Depressed teenagers began to think that maybe there was some value to life while they sat on the grass. Young couples gradually forgot the seemingly endless problems of the world while they pushed their strollers and held their children by the hand. The elderly sat on benches, drank tea, chatted, and were content with the lives that they had lived. If today was going to be their last day, well, at lest they would die after having seen such natural beauty.

However, inside Teru Mikami, a storm was brewing.

Mikami slowly made his way through the city blocks, oblivious to everyone and everything that they were doing. At this moment, the world and all of the people in it did not exist; all that mattered in the here and now of Mikami's mind was one name:

Kira.

The city-folk paid no heed to Mikami; his was, even at a long distance, an unpleasant figure, a shadow that threatened the presence of hail and tears. On most days, Mikami's poise was usually smooth and urbane with a sense of callousness, a stature that both attracted and intimidated men and women. However, this was not one of those days wherein his secretaries and peers wondered how they would ever get to be able to "hit that". Instead, Mikami walked as in a daze with the distinct inability to feel the ground beneath his feet, with a perception that was hazy rather than lucid, with a body too numb to feel the warmth radiating from the sun.

This sense of surrealism had started strong the moment that Mikami had stepped out of his door, and it had not deteriorated as time went by. His mind was focused solely on Kira. He was not moved by the heartening fluttering of the butterflies, he was not uplifted by the vivid cherry blossoms, and he was not drawn to the strangely large number of high school girls with C-cup breasts. Not even Ryuk's asinine babbling about a new comic he loved (Y: The Last Boy or Y: The Last Man and Monkey or something to that effect) managed to perturb Mikami.

_You still believe in God? After everything that's happened?_

_Yeah, well, I guess I'm a recovering Catholic. _

Things did not go much better at Mikami's office. The mountain of paperwork that he usually took pride in seemed far more daunting than it often did. One of his secretaries accidentally shredded some valuable documents, and her attempt to flirt with Mikami did not smooth things over. Then there was Mikami's latest case, the prosecution of a young psychopathic murderer named Kazuo Kiriyama. Kiriyama, despite his affluent upbringing, extensive education, and astonishing adeptness, was being tried by Mikami on four counts of murder. The first victim was a young, athletic woman named Mion Sonozaki, the second was a college student and champion kickboxer named Yukito Kishiro, and the last two were yakuza (named Yûta Sone and Shô Aikawa respectively). The former yakuza had worked for the late mob boss Kakihara. The latter yakuza had worked for the equally late mob boss O-Ren Ishii. These last two... "victims" suggested that Kiriyama was far more than the diligent high school student he appeared to be.

Nonetheless, the cards were stacked against Mikami in this case. Kiriyama was at the top of his class and was popular despite his terse nature and loner tendencies. Kiriyama also looked like nothing that the public envisioned serial killers to look like: Despite his intimidating stoicism, Kiriyama was undeniably beautiful with slick black hair that fell past his ears, a delicate lip, and effeminate eyes. The jury would undoubtedly be unable to look past this.

If that wasn't enough, the boy was the son of Toji Kiriyama, one of Japan's most successful media moguls. Toji Kiriyama had lost his wife in a car accident, Kazuo was all he had left, and Mikami knew that the father would do everything in his power to buy the son's innocence even if he knew that his son was nothing more than a cruel, sadistic son of a bitch.

The psychiatric reports were just about as encouraging. Despite the lawyers' strong objections, Kazuo calmly told the court psychiatrist all of the details relevant to the murders: the locations, the days, the times, the weapons used. The exchange took place inside an interrogation room, and Mikami watched through a tinted window from the hallway. Despite his exposure to some of the most vile and reprehensible animals to ever walk upon the bowels of the planet, Mikami still felt chills go up his spine while watching Kazuo. The boy was completely unemotional and unrepentant; he spoke of his murders as one might speak of what he had bought at the grocery store.

As Kazuo explained it, the first victim was reluctantly chosen. "I wanted a challenge," he said, "but I knew that I needed to practice on someone who I knew couldn't escape or retaliate well. In the end, I compromised. Because murders are usually committed by people whom the victims knew, I decided to target a strong, young woman I didn't know. Sonozaki, a wrestler from the Holy Forest Academy thirty miles away became that target. She put up an adequate struggle at first, but I managed to subdue her after I repeatedly smashed her face against the granite alley wall."

"And what did you do with the body, Kazuo?" the psychiatrist asked.

"I loaded the body into my van," Kazuo answered, "And then I burned the body inside an abandoned cabin in a forest not too far from here. I spent about half an hour burning it with lighter fluid and some matches; the body was so thoroughly scorched that I was sure that forensics would be unable to identify the corpse."

"And what of the other three?" the psychiatrist asked.

"The second one didn't give me too much trouble", Kazuo said, "He kicked and punched me a few times, but nothing too serious. The third one was slightly less skilled than I, so I got away with a sprained ankle and a black eye. The fourth one was my match, and I probably wouldn't have gotten away unless I stabbed both of his eyes with my buck knives.

"And speaking of knives, Kazuo, you used different weapons for each murder. After you bashed that girl's head in, you finished the job by garroting her," the psychiatrist said, "With the second victim, you beat him to death with a steel pipe. The third victim was found with a hatchet buried in his face. And as for the fourth victim, you stabbed his heart, throat, neck, eyes, stomach, and ears with your knives. You've told me this much in the past. Is that all correct?"

"Yes," Kazuo answered.

"Kazuo, why use all those weapons for your murders?" the psychiatrist asked, "Why not just use one weapon for all of them?"

"If I used just one weapon, the police would have been able to establish an M.O.," Kazuo replied, " If they did that, they would be that much closer to catching me. I couldn't allow that."

"Yet you were eventually caught, incredibly enough, by a school teacher named Eikichi Onizuka," the psychiatrist commented.

"I had no idea that Onizuka was on my trail", Kazuo said with no excitement or anger crawling into his voice amidst his memories of defeat, "He didn't strike me as bright, so I can only assume that he had some help tracking me down. However, he needed no help in overcoming me. It was a good fight, but his karate was superior to mine."

"Do you resent him for this?" the psychiatrist asked.

"No. Why should I?" Kazuo asked in response, "He did what he had to do. I did what I had to do. If I was in his position, I would have done the same."

_There was this boy I sent to Huntsville here a while back. My arrest and my testimony. He killed a fourteen-year-old girl. Papers said it was a crime of passion but he told me there wasn't any passion to it. _

The psychiatrist took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, and then stared at Kazuo with an earnest, tired face. "Kazuo, you have shown absolutely no emotions throughout our interviews. Your behavior is that of solemn apathy, and everyone you've been around, the officers, the detectives, the lawyers, have confirmed that characteristic. When we connected you to the EKG during questioning, you heart always remained at a steady, low-valence level even when we mentioned that you could possibly receive the death penalty. You care to seem about nothing at all other than learning, and yet you've said that you only learn so you won't be bored."

"Guess so," Kazuo said.

_Told me that he'd been planning to kill somebody for about as long as he could remember. Said that if they turned him out he'd do it again. _

"So then why?" the psychiatrist asked with an undeniable tinge of desperation pervading his inquiry, "Why the murders? Why all that work? Why throw your life away for something that you don't even care about?"

_Said he knew he was going to hell. Be there in about fifteen minutes. I don't know what to make of that. I surely don't._

Instead of answering, Kazuo looked down to his shirt and began picking some lint off of it. After a few moments, he spoke in a voice that was somehow more somber than before, "I was bored. Bored with school. Bored with friends. Bored with home. Bored with life. I just...", Here Kazuo paused, concentrated, and then continued, "I just wanted to feel. I just wanted to feel something."

… _Shuya? I... can... feel... again..._

Mikami walked away from this scene disgusted, but also frightened for some reason that he could not articulate. Kazuo didn't look all that different from Mikami, and it wasn't ridiculous to suggest that by the time Kazuo reached Mikami's age, there would be a very strong similarity. The idea that a similar looking sociopath existed unnerved Mikami. What's more, Kazuo actually acted like Mikami: placid, dispassionate, and imperturbable. However, what disconcerted Mikami the most were Kazuo's eyes. He had briefly glanced at them during hearings and negotiations that they were both present at, and they frightened him, him of all people. Kazuo was up to something; Mikami didn't know what that thing was, but Kazuo undoubtedly had something planned. If the layman took a look at Kazuo's eyes, it wouldn't take long for him or her to conclude that Kazuo had very expressionless eyes, eyes that could not show joy, sorrow, or anger. Still, Mikami took a closer, more penetrative look into Kazuo's eyes and saw that there was something there underneath the lenses, something hiding amongst the iris and the pupil, something that Kazuo did not want others to see. What it was, Mikami could only speculate. Either way, he knew that Kazuo was bad news and that he needed to be locked away for good.

Unfortunately, imprisoning Kazuo was going to be difficult, if not impossible, with the latest evidence that the defense had presented to the court. Apparently, Kazuo had developed a brain tumor at age four, and it was successfully removed before it became cancerous. Everyone thought that everything had gone perfectly, and they celebrated knowing that Kazuo had managed to evade Death. However, what the doctors didn't realize at the time was that the operation had been botched, that a number of axons had been accidentally damaged in the process. This, combined with psychiatric reports confirming Kazuo's inability to feel emotions, meant that while Kazuo was well aware of his crimes, the best that the prosecution could hope for was enrollment in an asylum.

Mikami fell into his chair, did some paperwork, found it difficult to concentrate, and then sighed. He called in his secretary, and offered to let her suck him off with the promise that he would take her out later that week. The secretary happily obliged. Afterwards, with endorphins now released into his body, Mikami felt a little more relaxed and continued to work.

Mikami continued to go over his papers until 2:30 PM. Then he gathered his things, left his office, and began to walk into the city.

He no longer felt relaxed.

_Where do you live, Simon?_

_I live in the weak and the wounded._

_Doc._

Mikami was more than a little nervous that day; it would be no stretch of the imagination to say that Mikami was petrified. Mikami had confronted many thugs and sociopaths in his time as a counselor, and not even the best of their threats and screams could alter his granite face. But the very idea of what he was about to experience: now that was terrifying. Mikami alleviated his skittishness earlier that morning with several tequila shots (he did so with a faint trace of disappointment in himself; look upon me, world, here is Kira's very own disciple, drinking himself silly like some two-bit hood), but his heart still paced at an above-average speed.

Last night, Takada had called Mikami at his apartment. After both sides giving their respective passwords ("God's in his Heaven, all's right with the world" for Takada and "Sweets to the sweet"), Takada dropped the bombshell.

"Mr. Ohba wants to speak with you," Takada flatly stated.

Ohba? That was the Kira's alias, the only one that he and Takada knew of! Mikami involuntarily clenched his telephone so hard that his knuckles began to turn white. Calm down, Teru, he thought, this is most likely good news. After all, you've been eliminating criminal scum at a rate that even Frank Castle would envy. And I can't even think of one things I've done wrong.

Mikami didn't admit that a dampening sense of dread was beginning to settle over him.

"... does he?" Mikami managed to croak out, hoping to Kira Almighty that he at least sounded reasonably calm.

"Meet me tomorrow at the Nora Inu Cafe on Kurosawa Street off of Akira Boulevard", Takada said, as impassive as ever, "You know the drill. Be inconspicuous. Do nothing to attract attention. I've already reserved table number three for 3 PM. Does that work for you?"

"Y-Yes", Mikami stammered.

"Good," Takada said although it sounded like she was reading about the art of vacuuming rather than looking forward to their little tryst, "I'll be wearing black slacks, a frilled white shirt, a black mini vest, and black sunglasses. I'll sit against the wall, so you can see me when you enter."

"Understood," Mikami said. Shit, did I say that too strongly? I feel like some kid overacting in a school play.

"Oh, and Teru," Takada said with a slight change in voice.

"Hmm?" Mikami hummed.

"Don't get your hopes up," Takada said with a little concern, "but don't get them down either. I need you to be calm. Take some Prozac if you have to, but do not freak out on me. Do you understand?"

No, I don't understand, Mikami wanted to say, Why shouldn't my hopes be high? Why shouldn't they be low? Why are you suggesting that I take an anti-depressant? Why don't you just come out and tell me whether I'm in Kira's good graces or not? Goddammit, what are you hiding from me?

Instead, Mikami meekly said, "Yes".

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow," Takada said before abruptly hanging up.

Mikami held the dead phone in his hands for several moments. He did nothing but listening to the ominous dial tone, the instructions of a ghost being recited to him, as he watched the wall with a blank expression. After some time, Mikami hung the phone back up, and then sat down on the chair next to the phone in order to stare at the wall without aching legs. After even more time, Mikami got up, walked to his sofa, sat down, and turned on the TV.

"Teru!" a hoarse voice cried from nearby. Mikami's eye normally would have twitched by now (if he ever had to question Kira, not that he wouldn't because then his soul would undoubtedly burn in Hell for such blasphemy, but if he did, he would ask why he had to be constantly accompanied by the most irritatingly ignorant and demanding being he had ever known), but he was far too tired for that. He didn't even cringe when Ryuk came right up from behind him and said loudly, "I'm bored, Teru!"

"So go read one of my books," Mikami replied apathetically.

"Yeah, I already tried that, but they're all boring as shit!" Ryuk retorted, "At least Light read some half-way decent stuff, like that one book about the superheroes who were trying to stop Russia from bombing America or whatever, but your books are all about dumb-ass kids who try to survive on an island or about sailors who try to find some loser out in something called a Heart of Darkness or-"

Mikami opened his briefcase while Ryuk continued to rant. From the briefcase, Mikami grasped a box, and then opened it. A compact and plastic device fell into his hands, and he carelessly held it over his head with one hand without bothering to look at his new roommate. Ryuk instantly shut up.

"Know what this is?" Mikami asked, already knowing full well how Ryuk would react.

"That's... that's a Gameboy SP..." Ryuk said, now very close to drooling.

"That's right," Mikami said, "You want it?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Ryuk said, eyes gleaming with the thought of tackling Bowser and capturing Pokemon.

Mikami tossed it carelessly behind him, and Ryuk caught it, quickly cradling it like it was a newborn infant. "Leave me alone for the rest of the night and it's yours," Mikami said.

"Sweet!" Ryuk replied, "I've been waiting to get my hands on one of these, and... Hey, wait, where's the game?"

"Whoops. My mistake," Mikami intoned, "Must have forgotten to get it."

"Oh, that's just fuckin' perfect, Teru!" Ryuk said, "What good is this thing if I can't even-"

"Ryuk, you're invisible," Mikami interrupted, "You can fly. You can walk through walls. It's ten o clock at night. The stores are all closed. You do the math."

Ryuk grumbled something about flushing Mikami's Rolex down the toilet, but exited the apartment nevertheless. Mikami instantly felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and his body became less rigid as he sank further down into his couch. He was too tired to read or study music, so he made the rare decision to simply veg out to the TV. Mikami flipped through the stations, skipping everything that had to do with reality programs, celebrities, and idiotic sitcoms, meaning that he flipped through about three quarters of all the channels. Mikami may have been willing to degrade himself that evening by allowing his electronic box to do temporarily do his thinking for him, but if he was going to let something else think for him, then it was going to at least be something with reasonable sense of intelligence.

Mikami finally settled on a channel with a program that at least looked somewhat intelligible. An anime movie was playing, one that he didn't know of. He watched the movie without really watching it, allowing his mind to gradually steady itself to the point where he could accept that he had been summoned to speak with Kira. Still, a few images of the movie stood out. Most of them centered a beautiful young woman with blue hair and a crucifix arguing with an exhausted, plain-looking boy. Apparently, the boy was the hero of the story, but he didn't want to take the responsibility of saving the world. The woman screamed the worst things she could at the boy, but nothing convinced him to rise to the occasion.

_You hate yourself, don't you? That's why you hurt others. Deep down you know you suffer more when you cause someone else pain... than if you just let yourself get hurt. But Shinji, that was your decision, so it makes it a valid choice. That's what you wanted. So, that makes it worthwhile. Stop lying to yourself and realize that you do have options. Then... accept the choices you've made._

And then something unexpected happen.

The woman was in her twenties at the least. The boy was, what, fourteen, maybe fifteen? In any event, this age difference didn't stop the woman from suddenly embracing the boy, from placing her lips upon his, from twirling her tongue around with his. Mikami had the distant thought that he might have been watching a porno, but that thought soon quickly dissipated. The kiss was not an instance of mere sexual gratification; that woman sincerely loved that boy. Perhaps it was wrong. Perhaps it was an act of indecent pedophilia, the same kind that Mikami so arduously prosecuted. But it was beautiful nevertheless.

_That was a grown-up kiss. We'll do the rest when you get back._

Mikami felt his penis stiffen and sighed. Movies like these, he thought, kind of make me wish that I had someone to love.

But I can't love. I won't let myself. I'm already married, wed to my religion and my ecclesiastical occupation. What was it that Nietzsche once said? Love is not consolation; it is light. Well, good for you, Friedrich, and good for everyone else who can love. I don't get that luxury.

Well, maybe when the New World is finally complete, I'll finally have time to settle down, he thought with resignation.

But... but when will that be?

Do not question Kira, Mikami warned himself, Kira is perfection. Kira is omniscience and omnipotence. Do not ever forget that.

Mikami grunted in dissatisfaction and tried to go back to watching the movie. Unfortunately, it did little to raise his spirits, as most of it focused on the main character losing his mind amidst the end of the world. Eventually, Mikami switched off the TV, not really wanting to see whether the boy was going to kill the German girl or not. Besides, he was tired enough as it was, and he was going to need plenty of rest if he was going to speak with Kira the next day.

Mikami dragged himself to bed, his mind still occupied with thoughts of what would happen tomorrow. He lazily undressed and tossed his clothes to the floor (Mikami hated being a slob and usually went to pains to keep his house tidy, but tonight he just didn't care) before allowing himself to crawl into his bed. He was still nervous, but his anxiety decreased somewhat as his warm sheets and blanket wrapped around his cold body. What was that one lyric he liked, the one that he heard during that punk rock concert that his old college roommate had dragged him to? Mikami had never been fond of punk rock nor its blatant disregard for authority, but this particular verse had struck him as something special. And the band wasn't half bad either. What was their name again? Bad Christianity? Anti Religion? Whatever, it didn't matter. What did matter was that one single line:

Sometimes its never a crime to spend the day in bed.

Of course, Mikami despised laziness and all those who practiced it, but he couldn't deny that the song had a point. After all, the world, even under Kira's rule, was still a very scary place. Outside the confines of his apartment, political prisoners were being tortured, third world denizens were starving, and jingoism was still rampant despite so-called twenty first century enlightenment. So really, could you blame someone for wanting to stay in their toasty, cozy bed and to ignore the world while it burned? In bed, there was no pain, no fear, no anger, no injustice. There was only sleep, and Mikami thanked Kira that his sleep was usually not accompanied by dreams. Mikami thought so much during the day that his mind simply didn't have the energy to produce dreams while he slept, but when he did dream they were almost always nonsensical nightmares. And the nightmares themselves weren't even diverse; they always revolved around the same theme, the one that made Mikami start up in his bed more than once panting with panic and drenched in sweat.

For as long as Mikami could remember, these nightmares consisted of a dark, tall, and utterly merciless figure laying waste to the entire world. Sometimes, this Dark Man would do the work himself, and laugh frenetically while he bathed both the guilty and the innocent in wave after wave of chaste fire. Sometimes, this Dark Man would sit on a throne made of the bones of his enemies and relax with a contented, depraved smirk while his disciples destroyed everything that he considered to be impure or sinful. But always, always this Dark Man would turn to stare at grin at Mikami even though the latter himself was rarely inside the dreams. It was undoubtedly a dissolute grin, but it was also a friendly smile, as if this Dark Man was saying, "Come on over and play. We can have so much fun together, you and I. I know that you're tired of your world, so why don't you come over and help me demolish mine? And then, when you wake up, why don't you do the exact same thing?"

Mikami never did take up the Dark Man on this offer, but then again he never needed to. After all, Mikami knew the Dark Man well.

The suit.

The raven black hair.

And the eyes. Oh God, those burning, sweltering eyes.

Mikami knew the Dark Man because Mikami was the Dark Man.

Please don't let me dream tonight, Kira, Mikami prayed I'm so tired, and I don't want to see... it again. Please, just give me darkness. Just give me nothingness. I just... I just don't want any more pain...

Mikami would have prayed more, but then he fell asleep, and with it came the temporary yet merciful cessation of all his worries, of all his uncertainties, and of all his fears.

Kira must have blessed him that night, for Mikami did not dream.

But the Dark Man still lived.

_Was that the boogeyman?_

_As a matter of fact... I think it was._

_

* * *

_

Mikami woke up the next day at the usual time of 7:30 AM. The alarm clock that usually woke him up was an exasperatingly annoying one; instead of playing a reasonably rousing sound or even some serotonin inducing music, the little alarm clock from Hell emitted the most obnoxious and grating of sounds, a high pitched _beep beep_ that Mikami would not have wished upon his worst enemy. This, however, was the very same reason that he bought the blasted thing in the first place. Mikami tried waking himself up to other sounds: the haunting voice of Rebeka Del Rio, the more dynamic parts of Faust, and even some of that intolerable heavy metal music that his secretary was so idiotically fixated with. However, it was only the suicide engendering _beep beep_ that incited Mikami to get up and fix the world instead of hiding in his warm bed and pretending that the world was not diagnosed with a nearly terminal form of cancer.

Mikami groggily switched off his alarm clock and resisted the urge to repeatedly smash it against the wall. Instead, with a mind that belonged partly to the waking world, but mostly to the Dreaming, Mikami dragged himself into his shower.

How long has it been since that last little revelation of mine? Mikami wondered as the hot water splashed and danced upon his skin. Years, probably. Well, even if the virus that is humanity can't be saved by reason or ethics, I can always let the little philistines know that there will always be someone around courageous enough to force them to meet their end. And when it comes right down to it, that isn't so bad. In fact, with Kira alone, I-

Mikami dropped the bar of soap that he was using to clean his armpit and couldn't feel his heart for a few seconds. A faint yet undeniable sense of nausea descended upon him, and he used to lean against the shower wall for support. Unfortunately, Mikami was not experiencing a full-fledged panic attack (Mikami knew from experience that those hurt much, much worse), and he cursed his luck upon realizing this. A panic attack would have given him an excuse to stay home that day; what he was currently experiencing was painful, but could easily be alleviated with some Advil.

Oh God, it's really today, isn't it? Mikami thought frantically. The day that I have to talk... to him...

It wasn't that Mikami didn't want to speak with Kira. After all, that wouldn't have made much sense. That would have been like Jesus Christ dreading to speak with Yahweh, or Ananda dreading to encounter Siddhartha Buddha. Granted, Moses was never all that comfortable around the burning bush, but-

You're scared of him, an unwanted and blunt voice told Mikami. You've seen what he's done to the impious masses, and you know that Takada has been trying to gently give you bad news. Why don't you just put two and two together there, smart guy? Somehow, you angered Kira, and now he's looking to tan your hide.

"Ridiculous," Mikami muttered, crouching down to his hind legs to grab the fallen bar of soap. I've done nothing wrong, Mikami thought, and even if I have, then those transgressions were committed unknowingly and are utterly dwarfed by all the good that I have accomplished. I think it's even fair to say that with the Death Note, I've been able to do even more than Kira with respects to-

Mikami suddenly became completely awake and had what he could only later deem to be to be an "existentialist" moment: though Mikami could not clearly explain how and why he felt this way, he still felt like things were suddenly very... "unreal", for lack of a better word (and Mikami, despite his intimacy with Proust and Sir William Gull, could not think of a better one later). Though Mikami realized that such things were ludicrous, he would not have been shocked to see cameras and stage lights inexplicably appear and decorate his bathroom. And though there was absolutely no way that he could have known what it would feel like, Mikami could have sworn that a ripple was spreading throughout the cosmos, that one reality had overlapped with another, that God had really died despite all objections brought forth by quantum physics, and that the universe was rapidly attempting to repair itself in lieu of the Supreme Being.

Do not ever think that, Mikami told himself.

Mikami quickly dressed, ate breakfast, got his papers together, and prepared to leave his door. "This is going to be such a long-ass day," Mikami muttered.

* * *

**HOURS LATER**

Mikami and Ryuk entered the cafe and the two immediately noticed Takada. This was because it was three in the afternoon, lunch was over, and there weren't too many people inside the cafe. It was also because Takada was wearing conservative yet distinct clothing: simple black slacks, a frilled white shirt, a black mini vest, and black sunglasses. Heart pounding, Mikami went over to the table and sat down. Unlike other men, Mikami was not nervous because of Takada's extraordinary beauty; it was all because of Kira that Mikami was tenser that usual.

True, Mikami did find Takada attractive, and he could not have her like he could have any other woman he wanted, but this did not concern him much. Mikami found physical allurement to be an overrated phenomenon, one easily obtained, one easily destroyed. Besides, sex was rare enough for Mikami as it was. Not only was he too busy for casual sex, but he found the whole process to be somewhat demeaning. Oh, it certainly felt wonderful and there were times when Mikami felt that he needed to release his seed or else implode from the very strength of his carnal desires, but these occasions were very uncommon. No, the reason that Mikami was so edgy was because of the information that Takada had, the very same instructions crafted by his lord and savior. Whatever Kira was planning, it was big, and Mikami was smack dab right in the middle of it.

"Um... hi," Mikami said.

"Did you have to bring him here?" Takada asked, sounding only a little annoyed and referring to Ryuk.

"Yo, Teru, I'm bored again!" Ryuk announced, "Order me some apples, will ya?"

Mikami sighed in irritation. Why did Kira force him to put up with this imbecile?

"One, they don't serve apples here," Mikami said, not taking his eyes off of Takada. Looking and talking to someone other people couldn't see was not the best way to stay incognito, "Two, you ate only three hours ago. Three, you have the attention span of a severally retarded platypus."

Mikami then addressed Takada. "He insisted on coming," he explained.

"Only because your apartment is boring as Hell!" Ryuk told Takada, "All of his books are by some dude named Yeats-"

"It's pronounced 'Yates'," Mikami interrupted.

"And his movies are stupid as shit!" Ryuk continued, "Like that Bergman guy. I can't believe you people actually pay money to be reminded that you're going to die and all that other weepy bullshit! You humans are a riot!"

"There is nothing amusing about existentialism," Mikami said in an even tone, "It's a highly profound and significant branch of philosophy that-"

"And don't even get me started on his porn!" Ryuk laughed, "I mean, with an uptight guy like Teru here, I was hoping for some secret fetish like old ladies or she-males or whatever. But his stuff is all inoffensive like cowgirl and reverse cowgirl-"

"Ryuk, kindly shut the hell up," Takada intoned while Mikami prayed for Kira to kill him right then and there. Addressing Mikami, Takada said, "Teru, don't bother being embarrassed. Your sex life does not intrigue me in the least. What does interest me, and what interests you, is Kira's instructions. Are you ready to receive them?"

Mikami nodded, his humiliation quickly giving way to the solemnity that this occasion deserved. However, this did not stop his knee from trembling in a skittish yet rhythmic manner. It was an old habit of Mikami's, one that he involuntarily practiced even when he wasn't anxious. Mikami simply had so much to do and say that it frustrated him that he couldn't do everything he wanted to do within the immediate future. Mikami considered himself to be a patient man (If he wasn't, then how would he ever have been able to trudge his way through all the books that occupied most of his apartment?), but there were moments where he felt like there was so much in his head that he needed to release, so many ideas, so many plans, so many aspirations. This was one of those times, for despite Mikami's fear of Kira, he was eager to speak with him and to tell him about all of the strategies that he had crafted in order to eliminate the filth of the world at an even more efficient rate.

"Would you mind keeping your knee under control?" Takada asked, "You're shaking the table."

Mikami did so, but was becoming vexed. Whether Takada had actually taken a look at Mikami's knee was difficult to ascertain; her sunglasses hid her eyes, something that Mikami didn't care much for. Up until recently, Mikami had never considered himself to be spiritual, but after becoming Kira's executioner, Mikami had become quite skilled at things like meditation and tarot card reading. Another skill that he had picked up was the reading of eyes. As a prosecutor, Mikami had learned how to read eyes in order to tell whether someone was lying, whenever someone was telling the truth, whenever someone was holding something back, etc. However, with Mikami's recent spiritual resurgence, he now believed that eyes were truly the window to the soul. Hence eyes were a major criteria Mikami used when deciding who to eliminate and who to spare. If there was enough decency in the eyes, Mikami would spare the sinner in question. Unfortunately, this did not occur often; Mikami could only conclude that Jung was right when he said that the evil in the hearts of men kindled evil in the hearts of other men. In any event, that Mikami couldn't gauge Takada's eyes and judge her current temperament irritated him and added to his anxiety.

"Nervous?" Takada said, neither compassionate nor callous.

"Somewhat," Mikami confessed.

Takada rummaged in her purse, not bothering to let Mikami know what it was that she was searching for. At last, Takada produced a clear plastic bag filled with a dry, green substance as well as some zig zag cigarette papers. She arranged these items on the table and started to roll the green stuff into the paper, creating a cig in the process.

"Um, Miss Takada?" Mikami asked, not liking where this was heading, "Is that what I think it is?"

"If you think that this is weed," Takada said, not bothering to look up, "then you are absolutely correct."

"Sweet!" Ryuk said, "I've always wanted to try that stuff after seeing that Friday movie!"

"Stop that!" Mikami hissed at Takada, "That stuff is illegal in this country! Do you know how much trouble you could get me into?"

"Relax, Teru," Takada said, "There are many privileges that come with being one of Japan's most prestigious celebrities. One of them is getting to take as many drugs as I want with impunity. Thankfully, pot, and occasionally coke, are my only recreational substances of choice."

"Yes, well, I'm not a celebrity so-" Mikami started.

"You're innocent by association, Teru," Takada said, "Should you get arrested, and I highly doubt you will if you follow Kira's plan precisely, I can easily persuade the D.A. to drop all charges against you. And if some police officer is stupid enough to arrest the both of us, well, let's just say Kira won't take kindly to that."

"And what exactly is Kira's plan?" Mikami asked.

"You're going to walk to a pay phone about a mile and a half from here on Takami Street. The cross street is Koushun Boulevard. The pay phone is ancient, but it works fine. Takami is also just a sleepy street with only a few houses here and there so it should be relatively easy to remain inconspicuous. It should take you thirty minutes to get there, by which time you should have sobered up but-"

"Wait," Mikami said, narrowing his eyes, "what do you mean "sober" up?"

"Teru, if you clenched a piece of coal in your ass, a diamond would come out," Takada said, "Speaking to Kira with ants in your pants will only complicate things. By the time you get to the pay phone, you'll be relaxed but ready to listen to Kira when he calls you."

"Teru's gonna get high!" Ryuk cackled, "I knew there was a reason I got out of bed today!"

"OK, have you ever taken a rip before?" Takada asked, ignoring Ryuk.

"A what?" Mikami asked perplexed.

"Virgin lungs. Thought so," Takada said, finishing up the joint and handing it to Mikami, "A single hit should should do the trick then."

Mikami took the joint and studied it carefully. "Now... how do I start this?" Mikami asked.

"Oh, for God's- here, put this end in your mouth," Takada instructed. Mikami complied and Takada took a lighter out from her purse.

"OK, good, now breathe in," Takada said while she lit the joint, "Not too fast, not too slow, just a nice, good, moderate pace."

Mikami inhaled at a nice, good, moderate pace, and then promptly began to hack and wheeze. Letting the joint fall to the table, Mikami used one hand to hold a napkin he could cough into while his other hand reached for a nearby glass of water. Upon seizing the glass, Mikami dropped the napkin and drank the entire glass in one quick gulp. He then collapsed into his chair, apparently exhausted with this new, great feat.

No one spoke for several moments. Mikami did nothing but lie in his chair and stare at the ceiling with vacant eyes. Takada studied Mikami with acute concentration, curious to see how he would react. Ryuk resisted the urge to fart.

"Well?" Takada said at last, "How do you feel?"

"Hey, you guys remember that moment in Hard Boiled when Chow Yun Fat was running down the staircase with his back to the handrails with both guns drawn out and he was all like _bam bam bam_? Mikami laughed, "That was awesome!"

"Right, I think he's sufficiently baked," Takada said.

"Hey, I like this new Mikami!" Ryuk laughed, "Go and give him some more!"

"Absolutely not," Takada said, "He's stoned enough as it is. Any more hits, and he'll probably start waving his penis around in public. By the time you help him get to the phone booth, he should be-"

"So I like fat chicks!" Mikami said to no one in particular, "So I like to have something to hold on to when I shoot my load! Is that such a fucking crime? Oh, hey, if you were to set Hamlet in the Star Wars universe, I'll bet you he would become a Dark Jedi!"

"OK, you need to get him out of here now," Takada told Ryuk.

"C'mon, Teru, let's leave so little miss ice queen here can go back to masturbating over Ann Coulter," Ryuk said, helping Teru to his feet while Takada made sure no one was watching.

"Descartes was wrong!" Mikami cried, "In order to find truth, one does not need to doubt everything he believes!"

"Sure he was, buddy," Ryuk said, shoving Mikami out the door, "Let's get goin', alright?"

Mikami stumbled out of the cafe giggling and doing his best to keep his mind on the task at hand. Ryuk flew above him, watching with amusement. There were a moderate amount of people moving through the city, but only a few paid attention to Mikami's rather unusual behavior. Those who did notice that Mikami's gait was unsteady and that he had a silly grin on his face quickly disregarded him as a professional of some sort who had simply downed one two many beers during lunchtime.

As Mikami floundered about, a catchy tune came to mind, one that he had heard while driving his car. It was a metal song, and while Mikami detested metal, he had to admit that the song gave him a surge of high valence energy. But how did it go?

"Your bones will build my palaces, your eyes will stud my crown" Mikami mumbled, quite pleased with his rendition of the song, "For I am Mars, the god of war, and I will cut you down!"

Mikami continued singing this song as well as other songs that he enjoyed (Ryuk cringed when Mikami performed his own cover of Huey Lewis and the News' "Hip To Be Square") despite the strange glances that pedestrians gave him. However, Mikami did not notice them; he was lost in his own little world, and all that mattered to him was that soon he was going to be able to speak with Kira.

"Hey, maybe Kira's funny," Mikami giggled, "Maybe he's like that guy, that... What's his name?... Set... Seth... Seth Rogaine or something... oh, fuck it, I'm so wasted!"

This public performance of intoxication continued for a bit longer, but with Ryuk's occasional help, Mikami was able to find his way to the pay phone. And wouldn't you know it, Takada had turned out to be right; Mikami was largely sober, and he felt relaxed on top of that.

"Why the hell is this stuff illegal anyway?" Mikami muttered, taking in his surroundings. The neighborhood was exactly as Takada had described it; there were only a few houses around, and most of them were abandoned. It was probably a working class neighborhood with denizens who had a difficult time getting by with their meager salaries. Most of the lawns were not mowed, there were several cracks in the streets and sidewalks, there was more than one pothole in the road, and it was evident that no one had bothered to whack away any of the weeds in quite some time, "It's got to be depressing living in a slum like this. These people could really use some R&R time with some of this, uh, Mary Jamie."

"I think it's called 'Mary Jane'," Ryuk commented.

"Whatever," Mikami said, "Do you see where the phone booth is? I can't-"

"Teru, it's like right in front of you," Ryuk said, trying not to laugh and pointing at the promised phone booth.

Mikami shook his head in an attempt to clear out any remaining cobwebs. "Amazing that this thing is still around," Mikami murmured as he climbed in and closed the door behind him.

Mikami became serious the moment he entered the booth but still felt reasonably calm. "You're going to be fine, buddy," Mikami whispered to himself, "You're going to get through this perfectly fine. Kira is probably just going to tell you how proud of you he is., that's all. There's no need-"

The phone rang, and Mikami involuntarily leaped in surprise. Nonetheless, he quickly composed himself, and checked his watch. It was exactly 4:10 PM, the time that Takada had said that Kira would call him.

Mikami quickly picked up the phone, held it to his ear, and then quietly gulped before answering, "Hello?"

"Obata?" the voice on the other line inquired.

It was not a regular voice that answered, but a scrambled, metallic voice, more suitable for Darth Vader than Kira, savior of the modern world. Mikami could not help but feel disappointed in spite of all the excuses he cooked up for his god. What, were you expecting him to talk to you in his normal voice? Mikami chided himself, Don't be so naive. Kira needs to take every precaution possible in order to protect himself from the infidels. Don't tell me that you don't know that. You were the one who tried to think of everything that could possibly occur during this situation so Kira wouldn't think you were a malcontent. You were the one who realized the possibility that Kira might mask his voice for his own protection. Who are you to hope that an entity like Kira, perfection incarnate, would deign to speak with a lowly subject like yourself?

I know. I know all that, Mikami responded, I know that I'm inferior to Kira. I know that I'm incredibly privileged just for the opportunity to speak with... "him" for lack of a better term. I am fully aware that I am nothing more than an insignificant worm when compared to the brilliance, the glory, and the divinity that is Kira.

But I still can't help but feel let down that he won't trust me more.

Well, despite the fact that what you've just uttered is horrid blasphemy, Mikami told himself, aren't you beginning to jump to conclusions? After all, how do you know that this is really Kira? Use the password that Takada gave you!

Cursing his own absent-mindedness, Mikami stammered his secret code, "Um, God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world."

"Very good," the voice on the other line who was hopefully the Almighty said, "Now it's my turn."

"'Father, father, where are you going?" Kira said, "Oh do not walk so fast! Speak, father, speak to you little boy, or else I shall be lost. The night was dark, no father was there, the child was wet with dew. The mire was deep, and the child did weep, and away the vapor flew."

Mikami sagged against the glass wall and cringed while his heart began to beat erratically. I am way too young and healthy to be having a heart attack, Mikami thought to himself distantly, as if he were another person observing this strange man slumping in the booth with a grimace.

"Obata? Are you all right?" Kira asked.

"I'm... I'm fine, Mr. Ohba," Mikami said. His heart relaxed with the pleasurable fact that Kira was concerned about his well-being, "It's just that... it's simply an honor to be speaking with a, um, "employer" like yourself. I hope you don't mind my saying, but I am who I am today all because of you."

"Oh... well, thank you, Mr. Obata. That truly means a lot to me", Kira replied.

Mikami narrowed his eyes. That was it? No words of wisdom? No words of encouragement? No "Teru Mikami, you have performed an invaluable service to humankind, which, while not appreciated now, will be written and sung of in the years to come"?

And what did you expect? Mikami asked himself, This is Kira that we're talking about here. Did you want him to blow you or something? I swear-

I will speak with you later, Mikami replied in an icy tone, Please cease your incessant and asinine commentary on this matter immediately.

The voice ceased its incessant and asinine commentary on the matter.

"Mr. Obata? Are you still there?" Kira asked, with a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Yes, yes I am," Mikami said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Ohba, but I just got distracted."

"You're nervous," Kira replied not unkindly, "And that's OK. But I really need you to pay attention to what I'm about to say next, alright?"

"Y-yeah..." Mikami weakly stammered.

"Good. Then let me get straight to the point," Kira said, "Mr. Obata, despite your admirable work ethic and enviable success rates, I'm afraid your work is ultimately lacking."

"I... I see," Mikami said through gritted teeth, simultaneously infuriated with himself and with his god (Mikami would not admit that though. At least, not now anyway.) Mikami had prepared himself for defeat beforehand, imagining all the faults he could have and then coming up with an appropriate response for each one. Mikami had figured that, by doing all this, he would be able to forgo any pain he was to feel after being rebuked.

Change of plans: the rejection really, really hurt. Mikami grabbed his chest and squeezed it. Paradoxically enough, the introduction of new pain into areas near his heart helped him endure the original pain. Mikami let out a small hiss as he twisted his flesh.

"Would you mind explicating what it is that I'm failing at, Mr. Ohba?" Mikami said with only a few grunts interjecting his request.

"Well, to be quite honest, Mr. Obata," Kira said, "our store has received many complaints regarding you. Apparently you are "selling" way too many of our products. And now everyone is afraid of me! As I'm sure you know, I work best when there is a mix of fear, adoration, and awe surrounding the... "store". Unfortunately, no one wants to go anywhere near the store now because of your reckless actions!"

"I just..." Mikami said, feeling his strength gradually diminish, "I just wanted to let everyone know who you are."

"Oh, I think you've managed to do that exceptionally well", Kira hissed, "Let's take a look at your customers, shall we? Let's see here... a husband and father who was having an affair... a major fashion icon whom I can only assume that you "serviced" because of her deleterious effect on the youth... a teenage girl who was pathologically anorexic... oh, and this one is my favorite by the way, a very popular and very prestigious movie director who you took care of because you thought that his recent romantic-comedy had subliminal messages regarding me! Now can you understand why I am so upset with you, Mr. Obata?"

Mikami did not respond to this, nor was he able to. The immense pressure of self-disappointment and self-hatred precluded him from attempting to defend himself. Instead, he stared at the floor, as if Kira was in front of him and he felt too ashamed to look at him in the face. Tears welled up in Mikami's eyes, and he squeezed them shut in order to expel them.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, Obata", Kira growled.

"I'm..." Mikami started quietly. His voice temporarily lost strength, and he steeled himself for the stamina that he needed in order to respond,"I'm sorry, Mr. Ohba."

There followed a sequence of heavy silence, as if Kira was pondering whether it was worth his time to speak with such a feeble minded disciple. In a moment of panic, Mikami believed that Kira had hung up on him, had in effect retracted his offer of salvation, had condemned the acolyte to live out the remaining years of his life among the filth and the squalid. But then Kira spoke, and Mikami was nearly overwhelmed with joy and gratitude even though he was uncertain as to the nature of Kira's next words.

"Are you truly sorry, Mr. Obata?" Kira questioned him, "Are you sure that you're not simply trying to appease me with false words of regret?"

"I would never lie to you, Mr. Ohba!" Mikami exclaimed. Clenching a fist, Mikami composed himself and then said in a calmer and quieter voice, "I would never lie to you."

"And are you repentant, Mr. Obata?" Kira asked, "Are you willing and ready to redeem yourself?"

"Oh, God yes," Mikami whispered, "Whatever you want. I will do anything, anything at all-"

"I believe you, Mr. Obata," Kira said, considerably more compassionate than before. Mikami stared at the phone, somewhat bewildered. How the hell was his lord and master able to change emotions so quickly? "I believe you, and I will admit that while you have displeased me in some ways, you have also pleased me in others. Despite your failings, you are worthy of my forgiveness. The question is, are you ready to avenge your fallen honor, my loyal subject?"

"I am", Mikami said simply and sincerely, setting aside his confusion regarding his god's rather odd behavior.

"Then tell me, Mr. Obata," Kira said, "Do you know a customer of ours by the name of John Kramer? The one who loves jigsaw puzzles and who is currently diagnosed with terminal cancer?"

_Hello, Light. I want to play a game. _

Mikami felt his heart beat a skip. Mikami knew exactly who Kira was talking about, and the excitement that had been extinguished only minutes ago now returned with a vengeance. Kira was speaking of the American philosopher John Kramer, better known as the so-called Jigsaw killer, even better known simply as Jigsaw. Kramer was Mikami's hero (right behind Kira of course) and was one of the primary reasons that Mikami decided to accept the honor of being Kira's own personal executioner (the main reason being that Mikami simply wanted to get as close to the sanctity of his lord as possible). Kramer was a hero in every sense of the word; despite knowing that his own death was close at hand, he still decided to spend what precious little time he had left graciously enlightening those who did not deserve enlightenment. It wasn't just that Kramer was a genius; if that was the case, Mikami would have regarded him with a moderate sense of respect but nothing more. However, instead of using his brilliance for his own benefit, Kramer used it to help others with no expectation of a reward or a kindly reciprocation. Such a hero deserved to embraced by the public. Such a hero deserved to be the subject of plays, motion pictures, songs, and holidays. Such a hero even deserved to sit at the left hand of Kira himself (but not the right; that spot belonged to Mikami and Mikami alone).

Thus, the media's unjustifiably monstrous portrayal of Kramer infuriated Mikami to no end. They actually called him a psychopath, for Kira's sake! And anybody with an adequately functioning intelligence could tell you that Kramer had never murdered a soul in his life. Indeed, Kramer detested murder and believed in the sanctity of life just like Mikami did. Were people so blind that they couldn't realize the obvious, that the point of the games that Kramer invented was not wanton cruelty? Were they so misled and ignorant that they couldn't understand that the purposes behind the game was to demonstrate the value of life?

Mikami's body began to shake involuntarily, but not because he was suffering from an epileptic fit or anything like that. Kira mentioning Kramer was something close to the spectacle of two titans joining forces. It was as if two worlds were assimilating into one another, becoming more complex, more versatile, more exciting. What if Genghis Khan had collaborated with Sun-Tzu? What if Truman Capote had written a book with illustrations by John Bolton? What if David Bowie released an entire concept album dedicated to the life and times of Hunter S. Thompson? These were the kind of unions that made fans shudder in anticipation, and the thought of Kramer, the persecuted philosopher, joining forces with Kira, He who was, He who is, and He who ever shall be, was one that sent Mikami's mind whirling. The possibilities may have very well been infinite, but Mikami raced through them ravenously, and the more exciting and dramatic they became, the more his body trembled.

"Yes! Yes, I do know Kramer!" Mikami exclaimed, "I mean, who doesn't? The man's a hero after all! Oh sure, there are many biased wretches who simply don't understand the magnitude nor the implications of his genius, but his brilliance will undoubtedly negate their groundless critiques! I mean, look at all the followers he has now! Look at all the lives he's saved!"

"Obata-" Kira started, but Mikami must not have heard him because he kept praising the integrity and judiciousness of his hero.

"Kramer has changed my life!" Mikami continued to ramble, "Of course, he hasn't ! changed my life as much as you have, but you understand what I mean, don't you? I mean, just think about it? The man is diagnosed with cancer, but he refuses to let it get him down! He reuses to give in! He could have spent the last years of his life lying in some hospice bed, but instead he's decided to use them to teach people the value of life! Isn't that admirable? Isn't that uplifting and awe-inspiring?"

"Obata-", Kira tried again, somewhat louder.

_What is the cure for cancer, Erik? _

"Wait, wait! Let me guess!" Mikami continued, oblivious to Kira's growing ire, "You want him to work with us, don't you?" You want him to help spread the word of Kira, to enlighten the degenerates, to save humankind from itself! Can you imagine how much we we would be able to accomplish if we-"

_What?_

"OBATA!" Kira roared.

_The cure for cancer. What is it?_

Mikami instantly fell quiet, due somewhat to shock that Kira had indeed screamed at him (And for what? What had Mikami done wrong? Display enthusiasm?), due somewhat to fear of Kira and what he could do to Mikami if that latter really pushed the former past his limits.

_I don't know what it is._

"Listen to me, Obata," Kira said in a calmer voice, "Listen and listen to me well, alright? Can you do that for me?"

_But I know it's not to kill and to torture people for your sick fucking pleasure._

"Yes..." Mikami said, sounding and feeling meek all over again.

_I've never murdered anybody in my life. I detest murder. The decisions are up to them._

"I didn't know that you were a... a fan of Kramer's", Kira said, "That's a pity. That's a real pity."

_Yeah, well, to put a gun to someone head and force him to pull the trigger is still murder._

Mikami's face fell. What the hell was going on here? How could anything about this be a pity? Why was Kira going about this like he had bad news to share?

"You're very bright, Obata," Kira said, "That's why I decided to "hire" you in the first place. Your single-mindedness has proven to be somewhat problematic, but all of your other qualities have eclipsed that one particular foible. However, I believe that your frenetic behavior may be the result of stress on your part. Let's face it, Obata: you're working yourself to an early death. You have a demanding full time job, and you're helping with the store to boot. You need to calm down. You need to relax. Are you following me, Obata?"

"Yes..." Mikami whispered.

"What I'm about to instruct to you isn't a punishment," Kira said, "I'm going to give you one last job. After that, you will give the book to Ryuk, and he will give it to me. At that point, I want you to take some time off. Whether you do that with holiday time or with sick days is up to you. While you rest, Ryuk will be keeping an eye on you and then will periodically fill me on how you're doing. After your vacation is over, I'll decided whether you should continue as my employee. Do you understand me so far?

"...yeah..." Mikami whispered, wanting to crawl inside a hole until the entire world forget about his existence.

"I'm glad, Obata. I really am," Kira said, "You need to understand that this isn't a punishment. If anything, it's a reward, my thanks to you for helping me run the store! So go to some bars, meet a nice girl, go watch all the movies you've been missing! Go and have some 'you' time!"

Mikami stopped himself from sighing. But I don't want to take a vacation, he thought, I don't want to associate myself with any of the bourgeois at their bars, I don't want to fulfill my shallow, carnal desires, and I sure as hell don't want to poison my mind with the nebulous trash that they dare call cinema nowadays! I want to work! I want to punish the guilty! I want to create a better world, a world free of murder, of rape, of crime, of war! Why are you throwing me away? Because I went farther than you? Because I did more than you? Who the fuck are you to rebuke me? And after everything I've done for you! After all the toil, after all the time spent, after I have poured my heart and my soul into my work! You need me! You need me because I'm the only one brave enough to completely eradicate all traces of evil from this cesspool called Earth! So if you think that you can do a better job, if you think that you don't need my help, if you think that you can improve this whole goddamn joke of a species all by yourself, why don't you just go take that Death Note and shove up your pompous, sanctimonious ass?

_No! Is this my reward for defending God's church?_

If there were two Mikami's, then one would have stared at the horror with both perplexity and horror. It wasn't enough that what he had just thought was heresy of the worst order; what was truly bizarre was that he had no idea where it came from. Mikami had never thought such things before, and while it was sometimes difficult to accept everything that Kira said without reservation, he never thought that any resentment could arise out if it.

"Are you ready to receive your next assignment, Obata?" Kira asked in such a way that he wasn't really asking so much as demanding.

"I... I am," Mikami said.

"As I'm afraid Kramer has no place in our store," Kira said, "I'm going to both have him expelled and test your loyalty simultaneously."

No place in the store? Expelled? Loyalty? What did that mean? What did that-

No.

Oh God no.

"You don't mean-" Mikami started.

"I do," Kira interjected with cold finality, "I want you to write Kramer's name in the book."

_Live or die, Jeff. Make our choice. _

For several moments, Mikami could not speak. His body suddenly felt very heavy, and all of his saliva had seemingly deserted his mouth, leaving him with nothing more than a dry, puffy tongue, and an arid tongue. His mind, once filled to the brim with facts, figures, and ideas, had become devoid, a bona fide tabula rasa. Maybe that was why he was beginning to feel so light headed.

"Obata?" Kira asked, "Are you still there? Hello?"

"...is this a joke?", Mikami whispered.

"Yes, Obata, this is a joke," Kira hissed in such a way that Mikami instantly knew it wasn't a joke, I personally invested my valuable time and effort into this machination just so I could pull your leg. What is wrong with you, Obata? What could have possibly made you think that any of this could have been fodder for a practical joke?"

"It's just... it's just..." Mikami stammered.

"It's just what?" Kira snapped.

"Kramer is my hero!" Mikami blurted out. He then quickly pressed his palm against his mouth as if he could prevent the words from leaving his mouth.

There was silence on the line now. Mikami no longer hoped that Kira wouldn't hang up on him; now he prayed that Kira wouldn't start bombarding him with scathing obscenities and terrifying threats.

"Kramer is your hero," Kira said tonelessly, as if for confirmation.

"Um... yes..." Mikami answered, incredibly tense. He didn't know which direction this conversation was heading in and that terrified him to no end.

More silence followed, and Mikami began to sweat even more. The sweat dripped down his forehead and landed in his eye. It stung like a bastard, but Mikami made no move to wipe it away. His attention was focused completely and utterly on the deafening muteness and what the rest of this discourse would entail.

"Obata, I want you to listen to me carefully," Kira said at last, as if he were telling a child that the family cat had just died, "Kramer isn't a hero, alright? He's a... a taker. He takes very precious things, the very things that we have dedicated ourselves towards protecting and improving. He is exactly the kind of person that we prefer not to... not to patronize."

"But he isn't, Mr. Ohba!" Mikami exclaimed, speaking without knowing what he was going to say, foolishly relying on everything he felt in his heart to be true, "He's a hero! A philosopher! A martyr! He's just like you and me!"

"I suggest you retract that statement," Kira said in a glacial tone.

"But I don't understand!" Mikami said, feeling very much like a child who kept asking his parents why he couldn't have a cookie before dinner, yet not caring, "I don't understand how you, of all people, would want me to write down his name! I don't see how-"

"ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY JUDGEMENT, OBATA?" Kira roared. The amplitude and ferocity of the rumble caused Mikami to leap back as if he were trying to dodge a rattlesnake. Mikami landed against the plastic casing, and involuntarily gasped as a jutting frame crashed against his back.

"N-No, Mr. Ohba!", Mikami cried out in desperation, "I'm not questioning you! I swear I'm not! I'm just... I'm just having a difficult time comprehending all of this! I-"

"ENOUGH!" Kira bellowed, "I am not interested in your excuses, Obata, nor am I inclined to hold your hand throughout this entire process! You are to write down Kramer's name in the book within three days, and if you dare to defy me, I will cut off all contact with you for so long as you may live! You will no longer serve me! You will no longer play any part in my stratagems! You will never reach the Promised Land that I have sworn to create! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, OBATA? DO YOU?"

_You failed! You can never go back! Your spirit will stay forever among humans! You'll live among them, you'll get old like them, you'll die like them and your memory of us will fade! And we'll vanish along with it! _

"NO, OHBA, NO!" Mikami screeched, no longer caring that he was losing his cool in public, no longer caring that he was acting conspicuously, only caring that he not be cast out of Paradise, "I BEG OF YOU, DO NOT FORAKE ME! FORGIVE ME! I WILL NEVER QUESTION YOUR JUDGEMENT AGAIN! I WILL NEVER AGAIN SHOW IMPUDENCE! MY LIFE IS YOURS! MY WILL IS YOURS! I WILL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT FOR HOWEVER LONG YOU WANT, BUT I BESEECH YOU, DO NOT ABANDON ME!"

His throat now raw from his pleas for mercy, Mikami panted during another period of intermittent silence. Mikami would have given more thought to whether or not Kira was going to banish him or not except that his larynx felt like sandpaper.

"I'm glad you see things my way, Mr. Obata," Kira said, "You have three days. And for my sake, pull yourself together."

And then Kira hung up.

Mikami couldn't hear the dial tone as the thunderous beating of his heart superseded all other noises. Mikami stood in the phone booth with the phone against his ear for quite some time; he eventually lost track of time. How long had he stood there? Minutes? Hours? Who knew? Not Mikami. Time and space was now an invalid issue for him. All that occupied his mind was one simple thought: Kira wants me to eliminate Kramer. Kira wants me to eliminate Kramer. Kira wants me to eliminate Kramer. Kira-

It began to rain, and the pattering of water against the phone booth snapped Mikami out of his trance. Mikami put the phone back on its receiver, and then exited the booth. The rain fell on him, yet he could not feel it. He could feel nothing, nothing except for a numbness that was alien and terrible to him. Without really thinking about it, Mikami clenched his fists, just to feel something, just to feel anything.

"Shit, man, its about frickin' time," Ryuk said, "What the fuck were you two talking about in there, thermo dynamics? Do you know how bored I-"

"You shut your fucking mouth," Mikami whispered with an uncanny quiver in his voice. Ryuk was about to retort something to the effect of Mikami shoving his cell phone up his ass, but then he looked down and saw Mikami's hands. They were bleeding: Mikami's hands were clenched so tight that the nails were actually digging into the skin.

And then there was Mikami's aura. Ryuk had never told any human this (because they never asked), but he and the rest of the death gods were able to see the auras of all humans. Mikami's aura was usually a mild blue, meaning that he was often calm, cool, and collected. However, when Mikami wrote into his Death Note and acted like he was on speed, his aura became bright red, which didn't surprise Ryuk in the least because he had learned to associate red with passion a long, long time ago. Right now, Mikami's aura was red, but it was a dark red, and there was a substantial amount of black included in it. The aura was also flickering wildly, like a fire in a furnace. This all added up to one simple yet disconcerting truth: Mikami, a man usually in control of his emotions, was beyond pissed off, and despite his misery, he was ready to lash out at anyone who even so much as playfully teased him.

Despite the aura, Ryuk knew that he shouldn't have been intimidated by Mikami. After all, Mikami was mortal and couldn't even hurt Ryuk if he tried. Ryuk, on the other hand, was immortal, could fly, and could move through solid objects. Thus, common sense told Ryuk that he being afraid of Mikami made about as much sense as that awesome monster from Alien being afraid of that Ripley broad.

Yet Ryuk was afraid.

Because he saw something in Mikami's eyes.

Ryuk saw something in Mikami's eyes that told Ryuk that even though Mikami was nothing more than a human, he would do everything and anything in his power to slowly murder anyone who insisted on haranguing him.

And although it defied all logic, there was something in Mikami's eyes that let Ryuk know that he could if he wanted to.

"I'm, uh, I'm going to go to the movies," Ryuk muttered, "I'll see you later, I guess."

Ryuk flew off, and if Mikami had heard him, then the irate and crushed lawyer made no attempt to respond to him. Instead, still clenching his hands, Mikami walked back home.

Mikami didn't bring an umbrella with him. He had no idea that it was going to rain. He walked home, and he didn't feel the rain as it soaked his clothes and his skin. He didn't feel anything except for a knot in his stomach that burned incessantly.

And it had been such a sunny day that afternoon.

_I say - I say - God is dead! A fire, a fire is burning! I hear the boot of Lucifer, I see his filthy face! And it is my face, and yours, Danforth! For them that quial to bring men out of ignorance, as I have quialed, and you quail now when you know in all your black hearts that this be fraud. God damns our kind especially, and we will burn, we will burn together! _

* * *

**ONE DAY LATER**

Mikami's hand shook fiercely while he tried to pour himself a shot of vodka in his kitchen. "Goddamn you, work you incompetent son of a bitch," Mikami muttered while trying to angle the proximity of the vodka bottle with that of his shot glass. He placed his left hand on his right wrist in order to steady himself but still could not manage to pour his drink without making drops spill onto his island table.

"Fuck this," Mikami grumbled. He took the bottle and drank directly and deeply from it, doing his best to endure the strong, fiery taste sliding down his throat.

Before the day that Kira ordered Mikami to eliminate Kramer, Mikami never would have thought himself capable of sinking so low. Of course, he had never known pain like this, and if he was acting "undignified" in order to drown his sorrows, well then so be it. It was naivety and arrogance that led him to never believe that there could someday be a moment in his life in which he would be in need of some sort of alleviation, and he hated himself for it.

"To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible," Mikami slurred, stumbling to his desk. He was glad that Ryuk wasn't around at the present moment; if the reaper was there, then he would probably heckle Mikami incessantly, and Mikami wouldn't be able to guarantee that he wouldn't commit suicide by stabbing himself in the stomach with his pen.

"Truly, the most honored of you in God's sight is the greatest of you in piety," Mikami slurred, falling lazily into his leather chair in front of his desk. Using one hand, he fumbled for his briefcase underneath his desk. After a few moments of trying to snatch the handle, Mikami finally succeeded in grasping the handle and bringing the briefcase on top of his desk, albeit roughly.

"I have put before you life and death, a blessing and a curse: so choose life for yourselves and for your descendants," Mikami uttered before taking another swig of his hooch. Now thoroughly disoriented, Mikami opened his briefcase, and tossed the secret lining behind his shoulder. With the lining thrown away, the Death Note stood exposed. With trembling fingers, Mikami took the Death Note, and placed it on his desk. After roughly shoving the briefcase away with a drunken swing of his arm, Mikami quickly turned to the page where he had left off. Mikami then swiftly grabbed a pen from his pen container with the intention of swiftly writing down John Kramer's name and being done with this arduous task once and for all.

That was the intention. However, things did not go as simply as Mikami had planned.

Instead of the pen writing across the paper, the pen merely hovered above it. "Write, goddamn you, write!" Mikami hissed.

But he couldn't. Mikami just couldn't write. Mikami had all the reasons in the world to write down that name, but it was as if if his mind and body now opposed each other, his mind wanting to serve Kira, his body wanting to continue the practice of revering avengers just like him.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Mikami screamed desperately. In an act of helpless rage, Mikami took both his pen and his bottle and threw them at the wall to his left. The pen barely made a sound upon impact; the glass bottle shattered loudly by contrast.

Mikami breathed heavily, eyes closed, his hands roughly clutching his hair. "It is not because angels are holier than men or devils that make them angels," Mikami whimpered, "But because they do not expect holiness from one another, but from God only."

Mikami opened one eye, took one hand, and stared at it intensely.

"I owe you this much, I suppose," Mikami murmured.

Mikami reached into another container and brought out a letter opener. With this, he poked his finger, and a bead of blood formed. Mikami pinched this wounded finger over the Death Note, and applied pressure until a satisfactory amount of blood dripped onto his page.

"I cannot imagine how the clockwork of the universe can exist without a clockmaker," Mikami quoted in a quivering voice, "If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him."

Mikami put his finger in the blood, imagined Kramer's face, and then began to write. "To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary," Mikami cried softly, "To one without faith, no explanation is possible."

Forty seconds passed. Forty long, tortuous, and maddening seconds passed, and during that time, Mikami tried to convince himself that he wasn't a traitor, that Kira was right about all things, and that what they were both doing was just.

"Kira loves me, this I know," Mikami hoarsely sang, "For the bible... for the bible-"

Mikami flung himself upon his desk and began to weep hysterically. He repeatedly banged his fist against his table, filled with an excess of grief, of anger, of self-loathing. "FATHER, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?" Mikami suddenly screamed not at the ceiling, but what led beyond the ceiling, at the very heavens themselves.

Kira did not answer, Heaven did not answer, and Teru Mikami continued to sob.

_I'm so fucked up._

_

* * *

_

WORKS CITED:

Pi (Movie)

Batman: Arkham Asylum (Video Game)

The Watchmen (Graphic Novel/Movie)

Apt Pupil (Novella/Movie)

Silence of the Lambs (Novel/Movie)

Daredevil (Comic)

The Punisher (Comic)

Psycho (Novel/Movie)

Red Dragon/Manhunter (Novel/Movie)

In The Company of Men (Movie)

The Fly (Short Story/Movie)

The Aeneid (Epic Poem)

V For Vendetta (Graphic Novel/Movie)

The Crow (Graphic Novel/Movie)

Y: The Last Man (Graphic Novel)

No Country For Old Men (Novel/Movie)

Battle Royale (Novel/Manga/Movie)

Session 9 (Movie)

End of Evangelion (Movie)


	7. Chapter VI: Dark Side of the Moon

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

**CHAPTER VI:**

**I'LL SEE YOU ON THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON**

Righteous judge of vengeance,  
grant me the gift of absolution  
before the day of retribution.

-Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Whoever succeeds in the great attempt  
To be a friend of a friend,  
Whoever has won a lovely woman,  
Let him add his jubilation!  
Yes, whoever calls even one soul  
His own on the earth's globe!  
And who never has, let him steal,  
Weeping, away from this group.

-Ludwig van Beethoven

You know the sleeping feel no more pain  
And the living all are scarred

-Megadeth

* * *

**VICTORIAN ENGLAND **

The year was 1892, the location was London, and the setting was a large, gothic mansion now encountering a type of mayhem it had never known during its lifetime. The thunder, lightning, and rain all concurred that tonight would be filled with the screams of vengeance, with the tearing of flesh, and with the spilling of blood from both innocent and guilty alike.

Doctor Light Yagami thought so anyway, as he and his wife the lady Misa Amane sought refuge in the uppermost top room of the Yagami estate. However, despite the enormous danger that he was already in, Doctor Yagami was aware that more than one thing was amiss. For one thing, he was never alive during 1892. For another, he was never a doctor. And lastly, despite his considerable wealth, he never owned a mansion, let alone a mansion as opulent as the one he was currently hiding in.

However, Doctor Yagami was only dimly aware of these anachronisms. If he had the time, he certainly would have given these matters much more thought, like why he was suddenly a British man with a Japanese name or why he was suddenly wearing a black wool frock coat and highland pants instead of his usual suit and tie. Alas, it is quite difficult to focus on the complexities that space and time have to offer when there is a monster downstairs who is trying to find and slaughter you.

Which was exactly what was happening.

Confound my accursed egotism! Light thought with only a small portion of himself wondering why he was thinking with such an outdated mode of speech, Damn it all to Hell! This is what I get for trying to create life! This is what I get for trying to play God! What in the name of King William the IV was I thinking? How could I have expected any good to come out of this heresy?

Doctor Light and Lady Misa cringed when a constable from downstairs unearthed a scream not meant for human ears. It was only hours ago that Chief Constable Soichiro Yagami told his son with the utmost confidence that London's finest would be more than enough for the marauding monstrosity that was plaguing his son. And for a moment, Doctor Yagami actually believed his father if only because the doctor's esteemed colleague and rival Detective Lawliet Lawson and his good friend Doctor Quillish Wammy (those were strange names for Englishmen, but then again Lawson and Wammy had always been eccentrics). Moreover, the constables were all proficient (except for Matsuda) and several luminaries were among their numbers. Constable Shuichi Aizawa was well known and admired for his role in apprehending the invisible and nameless maniac who had terrorized the English countryside for months. Constable Kanzo Mogi had actually managed to hold his own (as the proletariat were wont to call it) against Professor James Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime, before Detective Lawson stepped in to arrest his foe. Hideki Ide had once been part of the team that uncovered the identity of the notorious Jack the Ripper; for whatever reason, the true name of the serial killer was never released to the public and Ide never mentioned his role in the matter. If you were to ask Ide about how he caught "Leather Apron", he would just give you a sad, lost look and then walk away. Thankfully, however, this did not obtrude his policing skills.

As for Matsuda... well, Chief Yagami had promised Matsuda weeks earlier that he wouldn't leave him out of the next assignment. Of course, Chief Yagami had no idea at the time that said assignment entailed the presence of a monster that wanted to impale Doctor Yagami with the severed leg of a chair.

It was then a grim realization on Doctor Yagami's part that not even King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table could have stood a chance against the invading monster. This realization came instantly after the monster burst through the heavy, dense oak front doors, grabbed Detective Lawson's head with one massive hand, and then crushed it as easily as one could crush a grape. Unlike a grape, blood and brain matter all oozed through the gaps between the monster's fingers. Matsuda responded to this rather unsightly scene by vomiting, and the rest of the men started opening fire on the monster.

Doctor Yagami did not know whether any of the bullets struck the monster that he created, for he was already fleeing from the main chambers the moment he saw Lawson's head become crushed. If the monster had the power to kill someone as skilled as Lawson, then the doctor doubted that any of them could take down his creation. However, he did manage to see, out of the corner of his eyes, several constables being thrown across the rooms as if they weighed no more than rag dolls. Doctor Yagami made a futile attempt to deny what his eyes were telling him, that his luxurious estate was currently in the process of being redecorated with severed skin and buckets of blood. The one thing he tried not to see, not even out of the corner of his eyes, was the monster itself. Doctor Yagami knew that it was sheer foolishness, but Doctor Yagami did his best to believe in the delusion that if he did not look at the monster, then the monster would not see him. This delusion was somewhat crushed as the monster had tried throwing Lawson's mangled head at him. Thankfully, it only struck the wall besides the doctor, but he briefly glanced at the detective's remaining eye, and he knew with no doubt or hesitation whatsoever that the monster would not rest until it had done far worse to him.

"FATHER!" the monster screamed in fury, causing the entire house to shake.

Light ran up a crescent stairway, barged through a heavy, wooden chamber door, and then proceeded to dash down the main hallway. The hallway was luxuriously decorated, a lifetime of collected works that were majestic, yet of a most daunting disposition. However, Dr. Yagami, in his frantic enterprise to elude the monster, failed to notice the artworks' reactions to him. He did not see the portrait of a drowned yet beautiful Othelia floating down a stream who stared at him with bale, accusing eyes. He did not observe his prized bust sculpture of Julius Caesar laughing at him mockingly. With Dr. Yagami now closer to his final destination, he did not observe a painting of an unholy wasteland, nor the mournful glances that two forced exiles gave him. Now right at the door of the room he needed to enter, he did not know that a portrait of a woman once asleep, a demon, and a black horse watched his movements, eager to see how this nightmare would play out.

Light briefly glimpsed out the window and saw the moon, but continued fleeing, sure that he had not seen anything that was crucial enough to force him to stop. Had Light looked closer, he would have noticed that the moon was somehow, someway, in a manner that defied all astrophysics, set on fire. The entire surface of the moon was encircled in this blaze, making it appear to be a cross between the natural satellite and its counterpart, the sun.

_The moon is so beautiful._

Dr. Yagami flung open a tall, black iron door (Dr. Yagami did not have time to appreciate the engravings that he had personally made of Lucifer and his army constructing the capital of Pandemonium, one of the doctor's favorite scenes from Paradise Lost), and quickly shut it behind him. The doctor closed his eyes then and allowed himself to catch his breath before making his next move.

_It's a big silver dollar, flipped by God._

Despite the havoc being wrought on his manor, Dr. Yagami still had more than one ace up his sleeve. For this was his master study, and because this was the room where he spent most of his time, he knew each and every single contour of the quarters. He knew the titles of all the books that occupied the two protracted bookcases set against the left and right walls. He had memorized all the chemicals and medical instruments of his that he kept inside a moderately sized cabinet, and he was also aware of where each one was situated.

_And it landed scarred side up, see?_

However, despite these impressive and engrossing possessions, it was his bay window that utterly dominated the study's decor. It was also the asset that Dr. Yagami was most proud of, for he too had crafted this on his own, for it was his ingenious idea to capture the immortal image of Jacob wrestling with God upon the mountain. The coloring was exquisite, the construction was meticulous, and Light always found the characteristics of his two main players to be invigorating yet soothing.

_So He made the world. _

Nevertheless, Dr. Yagami's desk, placed in the middle of the study, was of the most interest to him at the present. It was a fine desk, constructed out of sturdy oak, and wide enough to let the doctor study several materials at once. However, as marvelous as the desk was, it placed a focal point in Dr. Yagami's stratagem for reasons other than mere aesthetics.

Light had suspected that the constables would fail in their attempt to vanquish his creation, so he had planned in advance, creating a fail safe that he was sure would bring down the monster once and for all. All that the doctor needed for this was contained inside the desk, and once the monster came up here, the tactics would be carried out, and the monster would be no more.

Light opened his eyes, saw the image of his wife, and knew that his strategy was in grave jeopardy.

"Misa, what in the name of God are you doing here?" Light screamed, marching over to the Lady Misa, "I told you to leave hours ago! Why are you not with your mother and father? Why have you defied my instructions?"

"Forgive me, Light!" Lady Misa cried as Doctor Yagami approached her with a most pernicious gleam in his eye. Light wanted to strike her for her insolence, but his wife's helpless look (and red Lucille walking suit) gave her a cripplingly innocent and delectable look, "But I could not leave you! I love you too much!"

"'At the end of four years, Absalom said to the king, "Let me go to Hebron and fulfill a vow I made to the Lord,'" A strong voice said from down the hall, "'While your servant was living at Geshur in Aram, I made this vow: 'If the Lord takes me back to Jerusalem, I will worship the Lord in Hebron'".

"You bloody idiot!" Dr. Yagami yelled, "Everything would have gone perfectly if you had done as I had commanded you to! And you dare use love as an excuse for your own insolence?"

"But it's not just that, my dear husband!" Lady Misa pleaded, "This is all my fault! The monster would not have followed you here if it wasn't for me!"

"'_And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son ,Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Mori'ah'" the thick, graveled voice said, closer now, "'and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.'"_

_ "What the devil-" Dr. Yagami started._

"I found the monster!" Lady Misa confessed as her tears began to rivulet, "I found him, and I took pity on him! He was as helpless, as unintelligent as a baby! Whenever I told you that I would spend the evening with my friends, I brought the monster food and clothes! I began to love him like a son!"

"'Cronus, take heed of your son'!" the voice hollered, now even louder, its volume causing the walls to tremble, "'Know that you have birthed your own end, your own death! Curse the day that you took to bed with your wife and sister, Rhea!'"

"The books of yours that I said I wanted to read," Lady Misa continued while Dr. Yagami stared at her with horror-stricken eyes, "that was a lie! I gave them to him! All of them! Aristotle, Byron, Scipio, Musashi, Blake, and everything else! I even gave him copies of all the poems, all the essays, and all the theories that you have written over the years! And the more he read them, the more he came to know you, the more he became like you! But something has changed, Light, something about him has turned warped and cruel! I tried to tell you this before, but I was so scared, so ashamed! And now we shall meet our Maker before the night is through!"

And then the monster burst through the room. Lady Misa screeched, and Dr. Yagami did the best he could to shield her from the flying debris.

When Dr. Yagami and Lady Misa finally turned to look at the monster, it stood before them proud and majestic, a beast convinced that it was a god. Despite its most grotesque appearance, there was still something savagely dignified about him. It stood at more than seven feet, its weight and muscle mass somewhere in the four hundreds, its body thicker than a redwood tree. Its only clothing was a black coat, horribly mangled and splattered with blood. His structure was a map gone horribly awry, adorned with stitches and scars.

Ironically, his hair and face were beautiful. The hair itself was raven black, and it flowed smoothly down his shoulders. Moreover, his face, despite the scars, held a certain, quiet dignity that somehow coexisted with a gleefully demonic countenance.

But it was the eyes that entranced Dr. Yagami and Lady Misa the most. They could not have been human eyes, for they glowed with a red effulgence, for they glowed with sweet promises of lakes of fire, of chains and whips, of eternal damnation.

_I'm surprised you didn't come here sooner.  
_

_It's not an easy thing to meet your maker.  
_

_What could he do for you?  
_

_Can the maker repair what he makes? _

"It has been far, far too long, father," Mikami snickered, "You have no idea how long I-"

"Misa! Get behind the desk!" Light abruptly shouted. Misa instantly ducked behind the desk, and Light digging into his pockets, threw several smoke grenades at Mikami. Mikami roared in irritation, but Light continued his assault. Slamming his fist on the desk, Light pressed in a panel, and he could hear the humming and whirling of the machinery inside the desk. A new, longer panel opened, and a rifle was ejected from the desk's springs. Light quickly caught it and wasted no time at firing at Mikami, while the latter stumbled about in a thick miasma. Thankfully, Light could see Mikami's huge, dark outline, and aimed expertly at that.

"BACK TO THE DEPTHS FROM WHICH YE CAME, ABOMINATION!" Light screamed while firing, "BACK WITH YOU TO HELL, BACK WITH YOU TO THE DRAGON! GO AND TELL THE DEVIL THAT LIGHT YAGAMI SENT YOU THERE!"

Light continued firing his rifle even after all the ammo had been spent and all the sound he heard was a few _clicks_. Light waited, holding his breath in suspense, to see if his trick had worked or not. He could see that Mikami was still standing, but that didn't necessarily mean that Mikami wasn't in the process of dying. All Light could do now was wait for the smoke to dissipate and see.

The smoke did just that, and Light was crushed (but not surprised) to see that Mikami was still standing, still as domineering and looming as ever. Mikami had evidently been hit by several bullets, but they seemed to have little effect on him, if any. Instead, Mikami grinned even wider than before.

_Why are you frightened, Father? The prodigal son has returned. _

"Now, now, father," Mikami sneered, "is that any way to treat your estranged son?"

Mikami took a step forward, and Light automatically took a step back, now thoroughly frightened beyond his wildest dreams.

"A savage place", Mikami said, "as holy and enchanted as ever beneath a waning moon was haunted-"

Without warning, Misa got up from behind the desk and ran towards the monster. "Misa! No!", Light cried out, though he had no idea what she had planned. Misa was never the most courageous of women (she was always the one who had to "excuse herself" during performances of Goethe's Faust), but she approached Mikami with no hesitation or reserve.

"Mikami, please!" Misa implored the domineering giant, "By the love I have shown for you, stop this campaign of malice! This will benefit no one! It-"

Misa was interrupted when Mikami, with a simple swing of his enormous hand, slapped Misa. The impact sent Misa sailing into the bookcase of the other side of the room. She fell unconscious immediately afterwards.

"By woman wailing for her demon-lover", Mikami finished.

Mikami turned to look at Light. "And his dark secret love does thy life destroy", Mikami sneered.

"Goddamn you!" Light screamed, puling out his spare pistol and firing erratically at Mikami. The monster made no effort to dodge the bullets, but rather moved towards his maker. When at last the chamber was emptied, Light dropped the now useless pistol, grabbed a nearby fire poker, and charged at Mikami with it. Light swung the poker at Mikami, but the monster simply and easily grabbed the poker, twisted it with one hand, and then flung it across the room.

"Did He who made the lamb make thee?" Mikami wondered before clutching Light's throat with one gargantuan hand. Light struggled with panicked terror as the hand closed around his throat, but he was able to do less so when Mikami lifted him up as effortlessly as a man might lift a doll. Though aware that it was likely futile, Light did his best to reason with Mikami.

"You're angry. I understand that!", Light croaked out, "And I'm sorry. But I can fix you! I can make you look like a normal human being! You kill me, and you lose all hope of ever becoming-"

"Human?" Mikami finished for him. "Oh, father, I have become more human than you can possibly imagine", Mikami snickered. "In fact, I think I may have even become more human than human."

"You're insane!" Light said, thrashing about.

"Insane? No, I'm afraid you're wrong there," Mikami smirked, "I'm completely and utterly aware of what I'm doing, and I fully comprehend the consequences. If that isn't sanity, then what is? Cowardly obeying the status quo? Living your life out without striving to make any substantial changes, let alone not making any improvements whatsoever? In that case, you would be deranged, my dear creator!"

Light's vision started to fade as his brain was deprived of oxygen.

"But you and I, we both know the truth," Mikami continued, still sporting his shark grin, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree as they say. It was your sanity that led you to create me. And why? Because this whole world is mad! The evidence is irrefutable! We know that the government lies to us! We know that the banks cheat us! We know that there is enough food on this planet to amply feed all people, yet starvation is common in several countries! It makes no sense, yet they go along with it all! They've deluded themselves into thinking that they and they're world are sane! But not you. You knew all along that this world was a Sodom waiting to happen! And so you took action to save the world!"

"In...insane," Light whispered, feeling very weak and tired.

"And in a way you did," Mikami said, his eyes dancing with glee, "For you have given birth to me, and believe me, I will finish what you started. So thank you, father, for giving me the invaluable opportunity to give Earth the god that it truly deserves."

"He's right, you know," a new voice said. Light looked to Mikami's left, and there stood Death. This was a very specific incarnation of Death; it was the version played by Bengt Ekerot in Light's favorite movie, The Seventh Seal. Death appeared as he did in what Light considered to be Ingmar Bergman's magnum opus: Tall, clad in a black cloak and hood, with a face that was both white and garish and that contained a small, wry smile.

"You... you're not-" Light choked out.

"Supposed to be here?" Death laughed, "My dear boy, this is a dream! If you have a problem with a character from a movie set in medieval Sweden appearing in a dream set in Victorian England, well then you must blame your subconscious, not I!

Mikami either didn't notice that Death was present, or he chose to ignore him. In either case, Mikami kept choking Light as he had done before.

"You're probably wondering why you haven't died yet," Death commented. "Mikami will kill you eventually. But not like this. You know as well as I do that Mikami is no hulking giant. You know that when you die, it won't be because his hands are clasped around your crushed throat," Death's smile became larger. "The way he will kill you will undoubtedly be much, much worse."

"N-no," was all Light could weakly protest.

"It's a shame that we don't have time to play chess," Death said, "I hear you're quite the genius when it comes to strategy and tactics."

Death snickered and then walked behind Mikami. Another man exited from Mikami's right side.

And when Light Yagami saw who this man was, he forgot his agony and stared in shock at someone he never thought would have been able to invade the sanctity of his dreams.

It was an old, pale, white man, also clad in a black coat and hood, but this time with red fringes. He took a look at Light with cold, gray blue eyes, and Light could see that there was no compassion in those eyes, only a harsh sense of purpose, only a terse sense of righteousness and dignity.

"So am I," John "Jigsaw" Kramer said.

_Go home. Forget this thing. I can recognize an obsession, and no good will come of it.  
_

_Why, haven't good come of your obsessions?  
_

_Well at first. But I followed them too long. I'm their slave... and one day they'll choose to destroy me. _

"NO!" Light screamed with what energy he had left, "NO NO NO NO! MIKAMI KILLED YOU! KILLED YOU! I KNOW HE DID!"

"Of course he did," Jigsaw agreed solemnly, "Mikami would have done anything that you asked of him. That's what a dog does, you know. But even a dog has its limits. You kick a dog hard enough and long enough, and it'll fear you like nothing else will. However, after a while, the dog will begin to remember that it has teeth. It will realize that all the pain and suffering has made it even angrier and wrathful than its owner. And eventually, that dog will bite back."

Jigsaw examined Light for a moment, and then sighed.

"What a disappointment," Jigsaw murmured, "You two could have learned so much from me, and I could have learned so much from you two. I could have become your teacher, and you could have become my disciples. Together, we three could have been unstoppable."

"I would... never... bow to a... murderer like... you," Light gasped.

"A murderer?" Jigsaw asked, looking quietly amused. "Oh, Light, your narcissism knows no bounds, does it? I never murdered a soul in my life. I just made people realize the value of life. You, on the other hand," Jigsaw's face suddenly became much more sober and harsh, "you never even gave them a chance, did you? And you didn't even have the courage to do any of the dirty work yourself. You just hid behind a notebook and a pen while you destroyed the very world you professed to recreate. Pathetic."

Jigsaw walked over to Misa and inspected her with a mixture of pity and of indifferent curiosity. "I know that I'm just wasting my breath," Jigsaw said, not looking at Mikami or Light, "Nothing I do or say will convince you that have erred greatly. That will be Mikami's role, and it will not be what he says that will change everything, but what he will do."

Jigsaw took down his hood, and walked back to his original position. He looked much older this way, yet there was an unmistakable, undeniable sense of strength that emanated from him. If Light wasn't being held in the air by Mikami, he probably would have been intimidated by Jigsaw's austere disposition.

"You know your Joseph Campbell, don't you? Of course, you do," Jigsaw went on without waiting for Light's answer, "An interdisciplinary major like yourself would have to be aware of the universal father of mythology."

"Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls," Mikami snickered.

"Indeed," Jigsaw concurred, "You have followed your bliss. And now it is your son's turn. To be a hero, one must follow their bliss. It is the only way that they will be of any true use."

Jigsaw paused, as if internally debating an issue with himself. When he regarded Light again, he continued, "I don't think this pain or any of the other pain that will follow is going to be what hurts you most. I could be wrong, and I freely admit that, but what will probably hurt you the most is when I tell you right now that you are not the hero of this story."

"Not... a... story..." Light whispered, his eyes becoming glazed.

"Everything is a story," Jigsaw replied, "Life is a macrocosm story, and each and every individual life is a microcosm story. But not all stories have to have a hero. Yours certainly doesn't."

Mikami tightened his grip around Light's throat. "I met my maker," Mikami said, "now it's your turn."

"If anything, take solace in this, my son," Jigsaw said, "The story of the hero cannot end until the hero has found his father."

"And I finally have," Mikami said.

Mikami lowered Light, but began to drag him closer and closer to the bay window. And the nearer that Light got to the bay window, the better of an idea he had of what his son intended to do with him. Even so, Light made one last attempt to reason with Mikami.

"Teru," Light said weakly, "Don't... do this... I... we... together we can..."

_Luke, you can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son. _

Mikami came to rest at the bay window. "Tell me father," Teru said, "We all know that your name is a kanji that means 'night'. So how is it then that one can find light in the darkness?"

"Wha... what?" Light asked.

"Figure it out yourself," Mikami said before he threw Light through the bay window.

As Light fell, his body shattered through the image of the angel, but the image of Jacob was left untouched. Shards of glass sliced most of Light's body, and while his brain's electrical signals told him that he was experiencing pain, Light could only dimly sense it. Only a minute amount of attention was paid to the unique sensation of having his flesh cut into ribbons. Everything else was devoted to the radiant, burning eyes of Mikami. And as Light fell, he felt neither afraid nor humiliated as he thought he would. For once, for once in his life, he simply didn't care. Didn't care about himself, didn't care about the Death Note, didn't care about the world, and it was the most comforting feeling he had ever known.

_Sometimes... sometimes I think the asylum is a head._

As Light's tired and weary eyes looked for a final time at Kira, he had to admit that his protégé looked very much like a real god would. A god of wrath. A god of fury. A god of justice.

_We're inside a huge head that dreams us all into being._

A god that the world needed now more than ever.

_Perhaps it's your head._

"And your soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted nevermore," Kira whispered.

_Arkham is a looking glass._

Light kept his eyes focused on Kira until the juggernaut became an ant, before the flaming furnace eyes became a dying amber, and before all the light was finally, mercifully devoured by the darkness.

_And we are you._

And then Light woke up.

Perspiring profusely, Light was grateful that he woke up without making much noise even if he did awaken with a start. Though breathing heavily, Light kept it as inaudible as he could. Misa was right beside him, sound asleep in their bed, and Light did not want to wake her. If he did, then she would try to comfort him with cuddles and kisses, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

Light placed his hands in his face and softly sighed. What the hell was that dream about? It didn't make any sense when correlated with any recent events he had gone through. He hadn't read Frankenstein in years, and he had only read one Victorian poem in the past few months (Armies in the Fire by Robert Louis Stevenson as he recalled). Yes, Light had recently rewatched the "final cut" of Blade Runner with Misa (who fell asleep some twenty minutes into the film), but even then the math didn't add up. Blade Runner was a cyberpunk movie, and its only connection to British literature was the paraphrasing of a William Blake poem. As for Goethe's Faust, well, that wasn't even an English story (Christopher Marlowe's The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus notwithstanding).

_My heart's so hard'ned I cannot repent. Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven, but fearful echoes thunder in mine ears, 'Faustus, thou art damn'd'!_

There was the son meets father motif to think about. Both Frankenstein and Blade Runner conveyed this archetype, but Light couldn't see how it applied to him. For one thing, Light already knew his father and was in continual contact with him. He did not need to go "seek" his father as the Campbell saying went. In fact, despite their distance, Light probably knew Soichiro Yagami better than Soichiro knew himself. Light had no desire to eliminate anyone from the KTU, especially his father, whom he respected to some degree (However, Light did not revere his father. Light found it difficult to venerate a father whose pride blinded him to the truth that his son was more than capable of eliminating criminals). Besides, there was no enmity nor tension between Light and Soichiro, so it made no sense that his dream contained this filial theme.

As for Mikami... Well, that was just ridiculous. Mikami, a massive homunculus wreaking havoc and claiming vengeance against his so-called creator? Preposterous! That was the stuff of cheap Roger Corman and Vincent Price movies; it had no bearing on Light's life. Just the idea of Mikami slightly defying his god was about as feasible as the idea of Misa collaborating with his acolyte. Besides, after that day's little encounter, Light was positive that he had scared any and all thoughts of sedition from Mikami's mind.

Treachery was then, in a word, impossible.

Light went into the kitchen, made himself some chamomile tea, spiked it with just a pinch of brandy, and drank it while sitting on his couch and picking up from where he last left off on The Cabaret of Doctor Caligari. Afterwards, he went back to bed.

Before he got back into bed, however, Light examined Misa. She was still sleeping heavily, and Light had to admit that she looked helpless and (Light sighed irritably) adorable this way. Misa was a declawed kitten, and it was Light who had taken out her claws.

So then... was she capable of treachery?

"Impossible," Light muttered, a little upset with himself for giving credence to such an absurd notion, "I must be working too hard."

Light crept into bed, and reluctantly moved closer to Misa's warm body. Light reminded himself that he held no affection for this simpleton; he just wanted a little warmth, that was all. Neither love nor compassion had anything to do with it. Sometimes, just sometimes, it was nice to be near someone like this.

Light closed his eyes and prepared to fall asleep.

He had trouble sleeping for the rest of the night.

_What you lookin' at? You all a bunch of fuckin' assholes. You know why? You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be! You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fuckin' fingers and say, "That's the bad guy." So... what that make you? Good? You're not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don't have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So say good night to the bad guy!_

* * *

**FIVE DAYS LATER**

It was still raining. It had been raining that entire week, and Mikami briefly entertained the notion that the weather was deliberately imitating his recent depression. However, whatever the reason for these persistently stormy conditions, it didn't exactly help improve Mikami's mood. Because of the rain, he was cooped up in his apartment all the time, and the only consolation in this was that he didn't need to walk through the rain in order to go to work, as he could perform his duties right there in his home. Still, because he hadn't been able to go outside to distract himself, and because of that he had been unable to get a most pressing issue out of his mind. Mikami had done everything he could to divert his attention. He had busied himself with "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?". He had watched Lars Von Trier's "Antichrist," and admitted that it was actually quite good despite the more... grisly moments. He had listened to Carl Orff, he had lifted weights, he had sketched his own version of the Egyptian god Horus, and he even briefly tried out Ryuk's Gameboy (the operative word being "briefly").

Mikami stood at his window, arms folded, looking out upon the city. He grimaced; there was no getting around it. No matter what he did, the subject would just not leave him alone. Even when he was largely engrossed in his work, it was still there, humming about like a pestering fly, refusing to leave him be.

Mikami needed to talk with somebody. That would probably make him feel better. He would probably be able to take off some of that weight off his shoulders if he just opened up to someone.

He would probably be able to take action.

And Mikami knew just who to turn to.

"Goddamn you, Kirby!" Ryuk shouted, while playing with his Gameboy, "Kill that fucking penguin! Kill!"

"Ryuk, why don't you turn that off for a moment," Mikami said, rather than asked.

"Yeah, I'll do it in just a second," Ryuk replied with no intention of doing it in a second.

"I have a better idea, Ryuk," Mikami said humorlessly, "Why don't you turn that infernal mechanism off before I throw it into the fireplace?"

Ryuk grumbled but did as he was told. "So what the hell do you want?" Ryuk asked, annoyed.

"Kira was wrong," Mikami said, going back to staring out the window.

There was a pregnant pause.

"Huh," Ryuk said at last. "You're like the last person I would ever expect to hear say something like that."

"I know," Mikami replied, "I thought the same thing too. I never thought I would renounce Kira, let alone doubt him. But that's what happened, and now I have a rather daunting problem on my hands."

"Yeah..." Ryuk drawled, not really knowing how to respond to this and not wanting to become involved in Mikami's existentialist crisis. "Well, if that's all, I'll just-"

"I didn't want to admit it, you know," Mikami interrupted while Ryuk silently cursed his rotten luck. "I tried to come up with all of the valid excuses I could in order to justify Kira's order to eliminate Kramer. I was only able to come up with a few of those, and upon a second reading, it was all but impossible to deny that they were tenuous and vacuous at best."

"Uh-huh," Ryuk said warily. Where the hell was four eyes going with this?

"I took everything that Kramer and I did in terms of eliminating, and then I took a look at both of our histories", Mikami said, "and then compared it to Kira's methods of elimination as well as his modus operandi. And do you know what I discovered, Ryuk?"

"I give. What?" Ryuk asked.

Mikami briefly glanced at Ryuk, and Ryuk noticed that Mikami's Shinigami eyes were burning red. Ryuk drew his eyes elsewhere; for some reason, it just wasn't right for a guy like Mikami to have those kind of eyes.

"Together, Kramer and I were far more effective at what we did than Kira ever was," Mikami said.

Despite his reluctance, Ryuk now stared at Mikami who had gone back to looking out the window. This was a rebellious side of Mikami that Ryuk had never seen before, and he wanted to see where it would lead, scary eyes notwithstanding.

"Can you imagine, Ryuk?" Mikami asked. "Can you imagine what Kramer and I could have accomplished? Can you imagine what we could have done to improve this wretched world? We could have done so much, if it wasn't... if it wasn't for him!"

Ryuk said nothing, but watched with interest while Mikami spat out that last syllable with venom.

"So now, I have a problem," Mikami said. "I could keep eliminating filth for Kira, whom I now know is fallible and inferior. Truth be told, I don't like that option much."

Mikami turned to Ryuk with his burning eyes, and Ryuk, though afraid, nearly chuckled at what he saw. Mikami's aura was better than ever; it surrounded all of him and covered more than a few inches of his body. It was now no longer simply red; now it was completely crimson. Mikami was back, and he was better than ever.

"Or I could do something about all this," Mikami said, "and I like that option much, much more."

"Yeah?" Ryuk asked. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

"First, let's start with what you're going to do, Ryuk," Mikami said, "and why don't we start with you telling me everything you know about Kira?"

Ryuk's eyes gleamed.

_You feel you now have control, don't you? You think you will walk away untested. I promise that my work will continue. That I have ensured. By hearing this tape, some will assume that this is over, but I am still among you. You think it's over just because I am dead. It's not over. The games have just begun. _

WORKS CITED:

Blade Runner (Novel/Movie)

The Empire Strikes Back (Movie)

The Prestige (Novel/Movie)

Arkham Asylum: A Serious House On Serious Earth (Graphic Novel)

The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus (Novel)

Scarface (Movie)

Saw IV (Movie)


	8. Chapter VII Nativity In Black Part A

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

**CHAPTER VII:**

**NATIVITY IN BLACK**

(Being a chapter split into two parts due to large size)

And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.  
And I watch his spears through the dark clash  
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing  
And pries wide my mouth with fast music  
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,  
His lone might against all darkness opposing.

-Ezra Pound

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-William Butler Yeats

And in a sudden jugular flash

Cold as the center of a sun

I forced a girl in a field of wheat and left her sprawled with the virgin bread

A savage sacrifice

And a sign to those who creep in fixed ways:

I am a dark man.

-Stephen King

I'm the Walking Dude.

-Anthrax

* * *

**LOCATION UNKNOWN**

_Chaos reigns. _

When Teru awoke, he did so with the immediate suspicion that all was not well, that all was not, at the very least, acceptably ordinary. Had Teru woken up with things being acceptably ordinary, he would have found himself in bed, the covers drawn up to his chest, the sun pestering his eyes, the alarm clock hellbent on disrupting whatever peace and quiet the morning had to offer. Although bad mornings were rare for Teru, he had experienced more than one in his time. He had woken up with hang overs. He had woken up next to women he could have sworn were more attractive the night before. He had even woken up naked in a secluded field once, his only recollection being that the night before at a showing of _Faust _he had finally given in to peer pressure and had tried some acid. According to reports Teru later researched, a "crazed individual" had started screaming during the performance that Noam Chomsky's condemnation of Kira was spurious, had stripped naked, and had then run off, apparently convinced that he was being chased by the ghost of John Lennon.

The aforementioned had been one of the more regrettable and humiliating occurrences of Teru's life. However, such awakenings entailing nights of excessive alcohol, loose women, and accidental consumption of hallucinogenics could be laughed off. There was no reason for Teru to ever suspect that waking up could result in amidst a disaster that he was not equipped to deal with. What reason had Teru to fear that he would wake up inside a casket buried under ten feet of soil and earth? What cause could Teru have to imagine that he would wake up to find a horse's severed head tucked under his covers? Indeed, it did not even need to be said that there was no reason for Teru to put any credence into the possibility that he could wake up one morning to find himself crucified in the middle of a vast and arid desert.

Unfortunately, for Teru, the latter was indeed the case.

_In the desert, the baptist warned us, God is coming. Well, I'm telling you it's too late! He's already here. I'm here! And I'm going to baptize everybody... with fire! _

Teru was not shocked when he awoke and found himself crucified; he simply did not have the energy for this. Teru often felt refreshed whenever he woke up, but, for obvious reasons, Teru felt impossibly weak and tired that bizarre morning. Slightly lolling his head to the left and to the right, he confirmed with a detached interest that both his right hand and wrist and left hand and wrist were bolted to a cross made of two rusted i-beams. Teru moved his gaze downward and was not shocked to find that his feet were placed one on the other and collectively bolted too.

I cannot even begin to conceive of what this might possibly refer to, Teru thought sarcastically yet apathetically. A small part of Teru was thoroughly scared and panic-stricken, but for whatever reason most of Teru was too lethargic to care about his predicament.

Something wet rolled down Teru's forehead and landed on the sand below. It was red. Teru rolled his eyes upward and caught a glimpse of something made of twisted and spiked silver steel placed upon his head.

_I-I don't know where I am anymore, sir, and that's the truth... that's the truth._

It was a crown of barbed wire.

_There, there, Netley, there, there. I shall tell you where we are._

Teru closed his eyes, attempting to organize and interpret all the incongruous and absurd information that his mind was receiving. He tried this for several minutes but could not come up with any viable explanations or solutions. Was this a dream? Was this Hell? Was this something new, unprecedented, and ineffable all together? There was no way find out in his position.

_We're in the most extreme and utter region of the human mind, a dim subconscious underworld. _

_A radiant abyss where men meet themselves._

_Hell, Netley._

Teru eventually opened his eyes. What he saw standing before him hurt him far worse that the sensation of steel being conjoined to his flesh.

_We're in Hell. _

There stood Kira, or rather, Light Yagami. Light looked almost exactly like that photo that Ryuk had shown Teru on Light's Facebook page. However, there were a few differences between the photo of a handsome, sombre boy that Teru had seen and the particular looking individual in front of him. These differences were arguably not minute.

Kira wore what was once a white kimono but was now tarnished with haphazard spots of blood. It did not take Teru long to realize that the blood was fresh. Kira sported wings on his back, and Teru could only assume that there were slits on the back of his kimono that allowed these unusual appendages movement. The right wing was white, fit for an angel. The left wing was black, fit for a demon.

Kira stared at Teru passively. He showed about enough interest in this suffering mortal that a child would show while pulling the legs off of a spider. As in the photo, the eyes were beautiful, but here they were lifeless. There was no spark to these eyes, no glint, no twinkle, nothing that could indicate rage, joy, or sorrow. There were only the eyes of a god who did not enjoy this unsightly scene per se, but who watched it with aloof interest.

_Oh, I do hate appearing that way, it's an entirely noisy manifestation. Still, rather expected of one, I suppose. _

After a few moments of tense silence, Kira finally spoke. Teru had never heard Light speak before, and the voice he heard was steady, smooth, and dispassionate.

"I'm sorry that it had to be this way, Teru," Kira said. "Your sacrifice, however, is quite necessary. Please believe me when I say that there was no other way that this could have ended."

Something wet rolled down Teru's eyes, and he realized without surprise that he was crying. The sharp pain of his hopes and dreams being crushed superseded his recognition of the tears.

"God, please," Teru pleaded, his voice cracking. "It doesn't have to be this way. You don't need to sacrifice me. I can still help you. I can still serve you. I can still contribute to your new world!"

"If the world is to be cleansed, then a sacrifice must take place," Kira said. "That is the way it has always been, and that is the way that it always will be. I needed someone brilliant. I needed someone loyal. I needed someone only second to me. I needed you, Teru. And now I finally have you."

"Mercy," Teru whispered, his tears blurring his vision. "I beg of you... have mercy on me."

"This is no punishment, Teru," Kira replied, the wind lazily sweeping up dust around his feet. "This is destiny. This is what the world needed to happen. Please understand that your death will redeem humanity. Only through your death may the stains of sin finally be washed away."

Teru tried to think of something, of anything he could say to Kira in order to convince him that this crucifixion was not necessary. Further pleading was pointless. Enraged screaming would accomplish nothing. The notion of attempting to negotiate some compromise with Kira was laughable at best.

Teru's only option was to speak the truth.

"I love you," Teru said, not knowing if this statement would liberate him, not knowing if it would exacerbate his agony, only knowing that it was a truth that needed to be spoken. "I love you, Father."

_The mirror has been shattered, but... what do the shards reflect?_

Kira did not respond to this poignant intimation, but continued to examine Teru with those same unfeeling eyes that reminded Teru so much of the textbook images he had seen of Josef Mengele and Karl Brandt. There were no hope in those eyes, no pity, no compassion, no empathy, only a casual and subtle understanding of the murder about to be completed.

The eyes remained dead.

"Goodbye, Teru," Kira said.

Teru blinked his eyes.

Kira was gone.

_God damn your soul to the fires of Hell! _

_He already has. _

Moments passed after Kira had left, and during these moments Teru did nothing but stare at the ground below him, only distantly sensing the pain that gleefully danced upon his body. His blood pranced too; the crimson droplets cavorted across the sand leaving meaningless trails, quickly swallowed up by the greedy, gluttonous sand.

Eventually, Teru began to weep. However, these were not the cries of helpless defeat and anguish that Teru had become all too familiar with during the past few weeks. Rather, Teru's cries were of a more silent and accepting breed, the type expounded by pitiful souls who curled themselves into balls after finding their family's dismembered corpses or by the abject misfits who only occasionally indulged themselves by weeping for a future that they knew would never be theirs, a future they knew would be haunted by their use of pipes and syringes. And so Teru sobbed for what was, what is, and what could have been.

Eventually, Teru let his head hang down and prepared to die. Perhaps this wasn't such a terrible way to go out: after all, Teru had done things in under three decades that most people would be unable to accomplish in a lifetime. Wherever he went, whether it was Heaven, Mu, or somewhere else entirely (except for Hell; Teru was sure that he had done enough good deeds to insure that he wouldn't have to come within miles of that nether region), maybe now he would finally get the rest and peace that he deserved.

"Not... not too bad..." Teru chuckled weakly. "Not bad... at all..."

More time passed. Whether it was minutes or hours was unknown to Teru. What he did know was that he wasn't dead yet, but that was alright. He could wait. He could be patient.

"Oh, please," a new hoarse yet oily voice said. "Why don't you come off of it, Shakespeare?"

Teru lifted his head in order to see who this visitor was. Teru didn't need to look at the new man to know it wasn't Kira; since when had Kira ever sounded like a sleazy car salesman who had smoked one too many cigarettes? Perhaps it was Anubis, Azrael, Santa Muerte, or one of the other gods of death who had come to accompany him to the underworld? Had Kira finally shown mercy by sending an envoy to cease his suffering?

Teru took in the appearance of this stranger. If this was Kira's idea of a liaison, then Kira was probably not done punishing him.

If Teru were to describe this man concisely, he would have referred to him as a sentient contradiction. However, to describe this figure in so succinct a description would not have done the curious stranger enough justice.

The man was a pale, lean Caucasian of above average but not great height. He wore a black leather jacket (despite the oppressive heat, which Teru barely noticed on the brink of unconsciousness), a maroon t-shirt with a clenched, red fist and the words "RED POWER" written underneath, denim jeans that were conspicuously worn and run-down, and brown, faded cowboy boots. He wore a sea shell necklace with a yin yang coin attached, a brown leather bracelet with a pair of dice tied to it, and spurs attached to his boots. There were several round pins on his jacket: a swastika, Kermit the frog, the Confederate Flag, a Grateful Dead skull, Nelson Mandela, and one that read "Nazi Punks Fuck Off!".

_In New York, he had been known as Richard Franq, and his claim that he was a black man had never been disputed, although his skin was very light. He and a black veteran of the Vietnam War (with more than enough hatred in his heart to make up for his missing left leg) once killed six cops in a single night._

_In Georgia he'd been Ramsey Forest, and in his white sheet, he had participated in two rapes, a castration, and the burning of a shanty town._

"How ya doin' there?" The man asked.

"Who... what?..." Teru struggled to say. It hurt to talk.

"Hmm, hard to have a conversation this way, isn't it?" The man mused, stroking his chin in thought, "Only one thing to do then."

The man snapped his fingers, and Teru found himself falling to the sand below. Teru lied there, too weak and tired to wonder how he was able to fall from something that he was previously bolted to.

"Oh, c'mon now, _hombre_," the man said with a jovial, sharp laugh, "There ain't no need for you to keep playing the role of the martyr. You can get up now."

Teru slowly lifted his head in order to meet the man's face, and if Teru had the energy to spare, he would have flinched upon seeing more of the man's face. It wasn't that the man was ugly or unattractive per se; it was more like the face itself was plain while everything else about him was rugged yet flamboyant at once. However, it was certain features of the man's face that made Teru want to recoil: namely, the eyes and the smile. Teru doubted that he could articulate just what it was about the man's eyes and smile that unnerved him so even while healed and level-headed. Was it because the grin was so wide, wider than was usual for men in general? Was it because the eyes were sharp and quick, almost akin to a snake? Teru was not sure, but he could sense at least one thing: Teru could sense whatever was rolling off this man, and it was something that both frightened and allured him.

The man held his hand out. Teru took the hand, deciding to ignore the man's demeanor for now, expecting agony to wrack his tortured body while he picked himself up. However, upon standing up, Teru felt only a few aches come over his body; it was as if he had spent the afternoon playing football rather than being crucified by God. Yet Teru was only slightly surprised. So much was happening so fast, and Teru found it difficult to be shocked by so many strange things occurring with such rapidity. Teru still felt weak though, and he suspected that it had something to do with this bizarre desert with the two colossal hands jutting out of the sand, grasping two eggs of two different colors.

Wait... what? Teru thought, now thoroughly dumbfounded.

Teru rubbed his eyes and squinted but the surreal scenery remained. There were two large hands protruding out of the sand only about thirty meters away. The one to the left was golden, and looked like it was trying to grasp a golden egg even in stasis. This golden hand was partly submerged in the sand, partly submerged in an adjacent lake. The second hand to the right was more of a silverish hue, and it too was trying to grasp an egg, only this egg looked more like a regular egg with the exception of flower growing out of the top. There were ants crawling up this hand; this hand only stuck out of the sand. A bony, undernourished dog stood to the right of the silver hand and ate what appeared to be the carcass of some rodent who had not yet undergone rigamortis.

"Um, where the hell am I?" Teru asked, looking around at the lurid landscape.

"Well, specifically, we're in Salvador Dali's Metamorphosis of Narcissus," the man said as if they were lost in some small town and not a famous painting. "But to be more general, this here is the Wasteland."

"The Wasteland?" Teru repeated, cautiously moving his hands up to his head in order to remove the barbed wire crown. It was gone. Teru turned around, and saw without surprise that the cross was gone as well.

"Yeah, you know, that bullshit poem by that one prick, that um... what's his name now?" The man murmured.

"T.S. Eliot?" Teru asked.

The man snapped his fingers. "That's the one, brother," the man laughed. "T.S. motherfucking Eliot. Goddamn if that bastard isn't the most overrated poet I've ever had the displeasure of reading! Bunch of copy and paste bullshit if you ask me. I don't think I've ever-"

"Look, I'm sorry for interrupting, but who exactly are you?" Teru asked. "Why was I just crucified? Why did Kira try to sacrifice me? How did you make that cross and crown disappear? Why am I naked? Where-"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" the man exclaimed. "Let's take it a bit slower, OK? We don't have much time, but I do intend to answer just about all the basic questions I'm sure you've got swirling in that swelling, overeducated mind of yours."

"Then who are you?" Teru countered.

"'Some people call me the space cowboy'," the man answered dramatically holding his arms out with both hands making a thumbs down sign, "'Some call me the gangster of love. Some call me Maurice cause I speak of the pompitous of love'."

Teru stared at the man blankly.

"You have no idea what I'm referring to, do you?" the man asked, his arms lowering, the enthusiasm draining from his body.

Teru stared at the man blankly.

"Goddammit, why do I always get stuck with the ones that know jack crap about music?" the man muttered to himself.

"Excuse me?" Teru asked.

"Nothing, friend, nothing," the man said, going back to grinning. "Just a classical reference, if you will.

The man dug into his jacket. "The name's Flagg," he said. "Randall Flagg. I'm your guide for this small yet highly laudable Grand Guginol and where the fuck did I put- oh, wait, here it is." The man pulled out two indistinguishable, white bundles and tossed them to Teru. "Put these on. They'll protect you from the heat."

Teru disentangled the bundles and inspected them. One was a white short sleeve thobe. The other was a traditional white Saudi ghutra.

Teru sighed and rolled his eyes. Hey, why not? It's not like anything else made sense here.

Teru quickly changed into the clothes; he was relieved that he didn't need to ask Flagg to turn around while he changed. Flagg hadn't mentioned Teru's nudity at all, and while Teru was not immediately repulsed by the thought of another man seeing him unclothed, the idea of Flagg observing his naked body unnerved Teru.

"Nice!" Flagg laughed when Teru had finally finished putting on his clothes. "You look like an Asian Peter O' Toole!"

"Wonderful," Teru said, not caring one way or the other. "Now, Mr. Flagg-"

"Call me Randall," Flagg grinned, "All my friends do. Only assholes call me Mr. Flagg. You aren't an asshole, are you, Teru?"

"I am most certainly not, Randall," Teru said, "What I am is exceedingly perplexed. How do you know my name?"

"I know all the names of my friends," Flagg said. "And all my friends know me. I'm sure that in time, you won't be an exception. In fact, I-"

Flagg broke off his rambling when he noticed that Teru was carefully examining him. He fidgeted uncomfortably. Did someone already tip off this asshole?

_"Louis Cyphere"... "Lucifer"... even your name is a dime store joke.  
_

_Yes, well, "Mephistopheles" is such a mouthful in Manhattan. _

"Um... what?" Flagg asked, no longer smiling.

"I... I know you," Teru murmured, "But from where? You seem so familiar, but I can't-"

Teru's eyes widened. Flagg cursed under his breath, awaiting the dreaded scene that was sure to follow now.

"You're from _The Stand_!" Teru shouted, "That Stephen King book! The one about the apocalypse! What are you doing here!"

Flagg's eye twitched. "I, uh, I thought you didn't like King," Flagg said, trying to laugh off the situation, "Don't you consider him to be a pulp fiction writer or something?"

"The book was a gift," Teru responded, "And as far as dystopian stories go, it was actually pretty good. Oh, it wasn't Orwell by any stretch of the imagination, but it- look, forget it. Let's get back to the issue at hand. Namely, why and how am I conversing with a fictional villain?"

"A villain?" Flagg said, his face falling into a mock frown. "Ah, buddy, I'm no villain. I'm just a guy trying to get by in this harsh world just like any other fella. You know, it sure does hurt my feelings when you-"

"You became the sole dictator of an entire civilization in the aftermath of the plague," Teru interrupted. "You used intimidation, coercion, and torture to solidify your authority-"

"OK, OK," Flagg interrupted, trying to sound like a parent reasoning with an irrational child. "There's no need to-"

"You raped a woman," Teru continued, "And she said that it was like being plunged into an icy lake-"

"Alright, I get it already..." Flagg said, his face starting to become twisted with irritation.

"Another woman actually cut her own throat with glass because she knew that what you were going to do to her would be intolerably excruciating," Teru still continued, "You can summon bats, rats, and wolves at will! You-"

"ALRIGHT! OK! THAT'S ENOUGH!" Flagg shouted at Teru.

What was once a face interesting only for its eyes and mouth suddenly became something far more frightening as Randall shouted. For a brief moment as Teru leaped back in shock, he was sure that this face was one that belonged to an irate demon, not a clownish guide.

Flagg rubbed the back of his head, his grin back to normal, but now smiling abashedly. "Ah, look at what I did," he lectured himself. "Losin' the old temper again. Sorry about that, guy, but I'm a bit sensitive about my past... exploits. And besides, that's all in the past! That's like...

"The book was first published in the seventies," Teru said.

"You see!" Flagg exclaimed. "That's like thirty years ago! It's all in the past! You people need to learn to live and let live!"

"Which would be convenient for someone who tried to use nuclear weapons on another part of the country without even declaring war," Teru quipped.

"Irrelevant," Flagg said, stretching his body and wincing as some parts of his spine cracked. "Hell you're a college boy, aren't you? What's that one, uh, logical fallacy, where someone whose wrong a lot can still be right about something?"

"It would help to know what you're claiming," Teru said.

"It's like I said, guy," Flagg grinned, "I'm your guide. I'm the boyo who's gonna help you become a hero."

There was a beat.

"You're going to do what now?" Teru asked.

Flagg's grin somehow became larger. "Long story, kiddo," Flagg chuckled, "Long story indeed. Sit down, why don't ya? We've got something to do here before we leave anyway."

Teru sat down on the sand like he was told. An Aztec eagle drawn in rough, Japanese brush strokes landed on the golden egg. Teru recalled from an anthropology class that eagles were used in the Americas to denote strength, agility, and fearlessness. If that was the rule, then this eagle was the exception. It looked at Teru and merely chirped, but Teru shifted under the uncomfortable weight of the eagle's penetrative gaze. The brush lines looked harsh, as if drawn by a paranoid-schizophrenic. The one eye was blank but gleefully predatory at the same time. The beak was somehow curved into a disconcertingly sly grin, and Teru could only speculate as to what the eagle wanted to clutch in its one open claw.

Goddamn patron bird of Zeus, Teru thought.

"OK, now just hold on a moment," Flagg said, sitting down while digging into his inner coat pockets. Pamphlets regrading the Protocols of the Elder of Zion, Pro-Life, Pro-Choice, the year 2012, and other similar incendiary subjects were carelessly tossed aside. "Before we go to the cave, I've got to read your fortune."

"Cave?" Teru asked. "What cave? And why do you need to read my fortune?"

"Look, it's a long story, and again, we don't have much time, so you're just going to need to go along with what I say, OK?" Flagg replied, not looking up from his current activity. Teru ducked just in time to avoid a magnet that read "Stop Bitching And Start A Revolution" that was unwittingly chucked at him. "First thing is, yes, you are dreaming. Unless Ryuk happened to mention that your boss looks like a character straight out of a Terry Gilliam movie, then you can infer that this place is the product of your imagination and subconscious. Second, this place belongs to another guy, so-"

"Wait wait wait," Teru interrupted. "What do you mean this place belongs to another person? This is my dream. How can my dream belong to someone else?"

"You know the collective unconscious?" Flagg asked, still digging, tossing out a flyer about how China's communism posed a threat to Japan.

"Yes..." Teru answered.

"Take that, apply it to dreams, and you've got your current destination," Flagg said, pulling out what appeared to be a deck of cards. "The Wasteland is a part of the Dreaming, the latter being the place where all your dreams take place, where all dreams take place. Your dream is just one among billions, oh sweet child o' mine. But this place does have an owner, and I'm not exactly favorable in the eyes of him and his freak show of a family, so we're going to need to make this fast."

"But who owns the dreams?" Teru persisted, not catching the Guns N Roses reference yet letting it slide.

"Dream," Flagg answered, inspecting his cards. "OK, good, I've got the right set," he mumbled to himself.

"Dream?" Teru asked.

"Dream," Flagg replied.

"Who the hell is Dream!" Teru exclaimed, feeling very exasperated.

"Dream is Dream, kiddo," Flagg said, "and while he may strike you as an a 'emo boi', he is one of the most vengeful motherfuckers around. Once condemned his girl to Hell for centuries simply because she wouldn't become his queen. It takes quite a bit to piss off good old 'Morpheus', but if you do, you'll be lucky to escape with your sanity intact."

"And you've actually managed to raise more questions than answer them," Teru muttered.

"Right, shuffle this deck," Flagg said, ignoring Teru's comment and passing the deck to him.

Teru took a look at the cards. "Tarot?" he asked.

"Major arcana, to be exact," Flagg said, "These are the cards used more for the larger, tumultuous events of life. And if you don't put much stock in magic like you 'enlightened' humans tend to do, try to read them like that one guy- What's his name now?- Jung did."

"My knowledge of the cards isn't superb," Teru said, shuffling the deck, "But in terms of psychoanalysis and archetypes they do appeal to me."

"Refreshing reply," Flagg said, "That's the one thing I can't stand about humans: so many think that they have the world figured out."

"You speak like you're not one of them," Teru commented.

"... something like that," Flagg grinned.

_Especially important is the warning to avoid conversations with the demon. We may ask what is relevant but anything beyond that is dangerous. He is a liar. The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us. But he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us. The attack is psychological, Damien, and powerful. So don't listen to him. Remember that - do not listen. _

"Done," Teru said, not really wanting to delve into the cryptic nature of Flagg's reply and placing the deck on the sand.

"Cut them," Flagg said.

Teru cut the deck.

"Right, I doubt you know how to do the Fifteen-Card Celtic Cross Spread, so I'll be doing that for you," Flagg said, grabbing the deck. "And before you ask, the reason that we're using this particularly delightful deck is because it's particularly helpful for answering specific questions."

Teru let his eyes drop to an insignificant patch of sand, no different than any of the others. He did not reply.

"And I think I may have an inkling of just what that question is," Flagg grinned. "Could it be something around the lines of 'What should I do about Kira'?"

This time, Teru looked straight at Flagg, reaper eyes blaring and squinted angrily. "You tell me," Teru said. "After all, you already seem to know so much about me."

"Goin' for a Dirty Harry look then?" Flagg said, still grinning. "That may be a little hard considering that you look like you're on your way to Mecca. But in all honesty, kid, your eyes aren't going to work. I've got no name, no true name that I can remember anyway. And I don't die. Ever. So I suggest you stop wasting both of our time and start paying attention."

"What do you mean you have no name?" Teru asked, shutting off his Shinigami eyes. This experience had been strange; instead of seeing any recognizable numbers or letters, all Teru had seen were indecipherable symbols that meant nothing to him. Just who or what was this man? "And what do you mean, you don't die? That's impossible!"

"I suggest you go and read all the other books I'm in," Flagg said, arranging the spread. "In the meantime, please shut the hell up and take a gander at this."

Flagg lifted the first card up. "What I'm about to show you is the Significator card," Flagg explained. "This is the card that represents the person who the question is about, in this case you."

Flagg glanced at the card and then showed it to Teru. The card showed a handsome young man, followed by a dog, walking precariously close to the edge of a cliff. The boy stared upward, as if fixated by something in the sky.

"The Fool," Flagg said. "Bet you weren't expecting that."

"The Fool doesn't mean I'm an idiot," Teru retorted. "It means that I'm gaining a new outlook on life. It's simply a new journey that I'm about to take, in the practical sense of the term. You can see that the card is warning me not to become careless by that picture of the boy about to walk off the cliff."

"Ah, I forget that you did your homework," Flagg said. "But did you notice the number at the top of the card? It's zero. Doesn't mean you're a loser though. Zero is actually the number of God, a number without beginning or end, a number of infinitude. Strange that that would come up in your Significator card, isn't it?"

"Are you implying something, Randall?" Teru asked humorlessly.

"The astrological sign is Uranus-" Flagg said, ignoring Teru's question.

"That's not how you pronounce it-" Teru started.

"Which is the planet of freedom, rebellion, and revolution," Flagg said, also ignoring Teru's grammatical objection, "Looks like you'll be taking up the hammer and sickle there. Give my regards to Che, will you?"

"Stop wasting time!" Teru snapped, starting to feel a bit sick in his stomach. "You yourself said that we didn't have all that much time to begin with."

"Just trying to break the tension a bit," Flagg said in a way that enabled Teru to know that Flagg wasn't trying to break the tension at all. "So serious, Teru. I'm telling you, you need that weed!"

Flagg showed Teru the next card. It showed an angel in the heavens playing a flute while a man, woman, and young boy looked upwards from the Earth. The man, woman, and boy were all naked and standing in open caskets.

"This here is the Judgment card," Flagg said, "and since it's your second card, it means that this is to be applied to your life within one month's time. Now, you're a lawyer, yeah? And not just any lawyer, but a prosecutor. So one would think that this simply means that you're going to toss another sad sack of shit into the slammer or that you're going to 'eliminate' him as you call it." Flagg's grin widened. "But it doesn't have to mean that, you know. It could mean that you're going to judge someone much more... significant. Much, much more significant."

Teru remained silent for a moment, allowing the information to sink into him grudgingly. For once in his life, he simply didn't want to learn the truth. As a college student, he knew that becoming an attorney meant that he would have to be privy to the most degenerate and depraved elements of humanity, that he would have to become a part of situations and meet people who would haunt him for years to come. However, Teru was fine with that. If Teru had to learn in intricate detail how South American dictatorships tortured anyone who challenged them, how certain people actually profited from and encouraged warfare, or how it was so easy for a person to devolve into a barbaric animal, then fine. He could do that. He could live with that. He was more than ready to step through that black door over and over again and witness a pointless and sickening circus of the macabre. If he could just imprison the filth who poisoned his world, then he could live out his life becoming more and more disillusioned with his species. But this was different. This was Kira. This was God. This was Teru learning that yes, there were things out there he didn't want to know, there were truths that he couldn't handle, and yes, he was scared as hell of what might lie beyond this latest, greatest, black door of his.

Teru inhaled and exhaled carefully, attempting to regain his composure. He needed to do this. He needed to learn the truth. If he didn't, then he would regret it, possibly for a very, very long time. And after being abandoned by Kira, he didn't know if he could handle that too.

"What else can you tell me about the card?" Teru asked, in as steady a voice as he could manage.

"Well, the astrological sign is Pluto," Flagg said, rubbing his chin, "Roman god of the underworld. This usually means that a person is going to bring something out of the 'darkness' of his subconscious and into the 'light' of his consciousness."

"Akin to Orpheus traveling into Hades in order to rescue Eurydice," Teru said.

_Father?..._

"Ah, I remember that one," Flag said, not dropping his grin, "Pluto was a right bastard then. Still is. Although, I can't help but place the most blame on Dream for that one."

_This is what you wanted, Orpheus. This is what had to happen._

_Father, please..._

"Pardon?" Teru asked.

_I've already arranged for others to assist you in your new predicament. We won't be seeing each other again. _

_Father_, _please... kill me..._

"Long story," Flagg answered.

_Goodbye, my son._

_Father! Wait! Come back! Kill me! KILL ME! _

Flagg picked the next card, examined it, and chuckled even louder. "Oh, this keeps on getting better and better," he laughed. "And here I was planning on spending the day in bed and watching that one scene in Basic Instinct where Sharon Stone shows her pu-"

"You know, if you could skip all the asinine pop culture references, that would really help me out because I have no idea what you're talking about," Teru said coldly. "Just tell me what the next card is, OK?"

"Ask and ye shall receive," Flagg said, showing his card to Teru.

The card showed an old yet powerful looking man sitting upon a throne made of stone. The man was adorned in kingly robes with a crown set on top of his head; he held a sort of truncheon in his hand with a circle at the top, only the truncheon looked more like a ceremonial object rather than a weapon.

"The Emperor," Flagg said, as if he relished saying the words. "The archetype for authority and patriarchy. The boss, the king, the father, etc. Basically, the top dog. Also represents someone who will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. Very stubborn. Very tenacious."

Flag abruptly cracked his neck, emitted a loud _pop_ sound. Teru winced. Flagg didn't seem to mind.

"Thing is, your dad left the roost when you were just a babe," Flagg mused, "and your investigation of him when you were a teen confirmed your worst fears: the father of the prodigal son was nothing more than a philandering, unemployed, dope fiend."

Teru wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of the memory. To find out after painstaking investigative work that the man who had spawned him was no better than the scum who he vowed to eliminate from society was a terrible blow to his pride. Not even writing down his name in the book years later had managed to appease his shame. Teru briefly wondered, had his mother survived, if he could ever bring himself to write down her name down in the book if she proved to be unworthy of his new world. True, he doubted that a woman of her character would ever do anything to earn his wrath; still, what kind of a woman allowed herself to be shamefully and drunkenly knocked up at a party by a stranger only to tell confess the truth to her horrified son after he had tracked down his unworthy originator?

_Yes, Mother, it was me! I killed my father! I tried to kill you! And I've regretted the day I failed to achieve the one thing that would have granted me all the happiness in the world!_

_Thomas, what are you-_

_Is that why you had me memorize Aristotle, Mother? Is that why you had me spend hours memorizing Scipio, Sun-Tzu, and Musashi? So you could distract me from the fact that my father was nothing more than a drunken burden?_

_Get away from me! Get away before I-_

_Hush, Mother... hush..._

"So then, who else could be the emperor in your life?" Flagg grinned. "Certainly not you. You're not a father. You're not a patriarch. And you may have your own promiscuous secretary, but you're not the really the top brass of your office, now are you? So who else... who else..."

It was during this time that Teru took another good, long look at Flagg while the latter was busy rambling all sorts of sinister insinuations and innuendos. This was a dream, so it wasn't impossible, but Teru was still uncomfortable with treading into the vacuous yet admittedly intimidating territory of horror and fantasy. Still, Teru could not simply swallow this observation down. Flagg may have appeared to be human to everyone else, but to Teru it seemed like Flagg was something else in the guise of a man. As an attorney, Teru knew that the adjective "inhuman" was worthless. To say that rape, murder, and genocide made homosapiens "inhuman" was tantamount to saying sniffing excrement and humping logs made dogs the opposite of canines. However, even after learning about lurid events like the Wounded Knee massacre and even after learning about deluded freaks like Jim Jones, there was something that Flagg had that other people didn't. Flagg had something ineffable that suggested that whatever "inhumanity" was, he had it.

"Oh, and I should mention that since this is the third card, the Emperor represents an obstacle that you'll have to face in the immediate, foreseeable future," Flagg said, clearly enjoying the results of his divination and adding to Teru's suspicions.

There was silence for several moments. Teru stared at the sand again, as if trying to come up with some conclusion that could defy Flagg's cryptic predictions. This was somewhat more than difficult, as Teru had no other information other than Flagg's to form said conclusion. Finally, he lifted his gaze back up to Flagg's.

"You're a bastard," Teru finally said. He said it without venom, as if he were saying something undeniably true and not an insult.

Flagg laughed. "And you're the poster child for bipolar disorder, pilgrim," Flagg said. "But you're an honest son of a bitch, and I like that. But enough sweet nothings. We've got some more cards to draw and the day isn't getting any younger."

Flagg chose the next card, checked it with an arched eyebrow, and then showed it to Teru.

In the center of the card was a beautiful and naked young woman with a ribbon criss-crossing around her body. A circle of what appeared to be fox tails encircled her. The face of an angel hovered in the top left. The face of an eagle loomed in the top right. The face of bull sat in the bottom left. Lastly, the face of a lion lied in the bottom right.

"The World," Flagg announced. "It signifies the reward that comes with hard work. And since this is the fourth card, this reward is going to be received in the distant future, like say in six months. Tell me, Teru, in six months time, what will be Kira's reward for everything that he's done?"

"... the world," Teru said at last.

"Kind of funny that that would appear in your reading, isn't it?" Flagg noted, reaching for the next card.

Teru said nothing, trying to let the words brush past him like water brushing off a duck. The surface meaning of these words was chilling enough. Teru had no desire to examine them closely.

Flagg picked the next card, looked at it, and then gave a small yet harsh laugh. "Irony on top of irony," he murmured.

"What is it?" Teru asked.

Flagg held up the card.

It was the Devil.

"Pleased to meet you," Flagg quoted with a knowing smirk. "Hope you get my name."

"Now that song I do know," Teru responded. "But how does that card apply to me? Is it... is it that Kira's methods are evil?"

"Believe it or not, the Devil card doesn't necessarily refer to evil," Flagg said. "Since this is the fourth card, it represents your near past. The card itself has three overall meanings: you feel restricted, you've got a hell of a lot of obligations, and you're set on a possibly destructive course of action. Well, it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure this one out. Notice how there's a man and a woman chained to the stake that the Devil is standing on top of? Now, it could be just me, but it seems as if you're the poor sap who's chained and that the Devil is-"

"Watch it, Randall," Teru growled. "This is my god we're talking about here. I won't-"

"Teru, how old do you think I am?" Flagg abruptly asked.

"What?" Teru said.

"How old do you think I am?" Flagg repeated.

"I don't know," Teru said. "Twenty five? Thirty?"

Flagg smiled like he was the only the one privy to this secret joke and that he pitied Teru for not getting it. "You're way off there, _amigo_," he said. "I'm actually much, much older than that. Thankfully, my... 'line of work' tends to keep me as fit as a fiddle."

"Congratulations," Teru said irritably. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I've been around a lot longer than you have," Flagg said, "And I have seen some shit that you would not believe. That includes gods, all sorts of them. Tezcatlipoca, Loki, Eris, Izanami... Yeah, they were strong. Yeah, they were as scary as fuck all. But most of them were just petty pricks. Always cracked me up how humans would worship gods who didn't give a fuck about them. Case in point, Kira is nothing new: he's the same breed of the gods who allowed Troy to burn and who demanded human sacrifice. And you've just so happened to be chained to this latest member of the club for quite some time now."

Teru thought about this. OK, so Kira wasn't exactly the most merciful deity around. That was understandable. Humanity was a fundamentally egregious species. Tough situations called for tough love, and the world was in nothing but a tough situation with his kind creating discord of every variety. Still, was the worship of Kira no different from the worship of other malevolent gods of the past? Was it no different than throwing children in fire to appease Samael? Was it the same as the Druids burning animals and other humans in a wicker man in order to please their sun gods?

Teru shuddered at the thought.

_As a species we're fundamentally insane. Put more than two of us in a room, we pick sides and start dreaming up reasons to kill one another. Why do you think we invented politics and religion? _

"The zodiac sign is the Capricorn," Flagg continued. "A goat if you will. People with this sign tend to be just like goats climbing a mountain: driven, stubborn, and oblivious to just about everything else other than themselves and their goals."

"Which refers to Kira," Teru said.

"... sure it does," Flagg said, reaching for the next card.

"One more question," Teru said. "The woman chained to the stake with the woman... who is she? Someone I know? Takada?"

"It could be Takada," Flagg grinned. "That's an entirely acceptable interpretation. Or it could be someone else, someone you don't even know yet. Hell, it could be your own mother for all we know. We'll just have to wait and see, now won't we?"

Teru frowned, thinking on this while Flagg drew the next card. Upon seeing it, Flagg _hmmed _as if in understanding and showed Teru a card of a naked woman pouring pitchers of water into a lake and into the dirt. Above her, over the mountains, were seven small shapes and one large shape, each with eight points in the form of stars.

"This is the star," Flagg said, "It's also the fifth card, so it refers to your distant past."

"My distant past?" Teru asked, conjuring childhood memories of imitating Batman, of defending his classmates, and of receiving swift punitive action in response.

"This one suits you very well, I think," Flagg said. "The card symbolizes inspiration. Exactly how many heroes do you have there, honcho? Fifty? Seventy? One hundred? And your heroes were the real thing: Sun Tzu, Joseph Campbell, Carl Sagan, and so forth. And who does everyone else revere? Pop stars. Celebrities. Irritating pundits. Idiot politicians."

"So I appreciate the right individuals," Teru said. "What of it?"

"Oh, Teru, your childhood was not a memorable one," Flagg said in a mock-regretful way. Flagg wasn't grinning, but Teru suspected that the strange magician wanted to. "Hell, I don't think it would be that much of a stretch to say that your childhood was shit. But despite all the beatings you took, you were noticed, weren't you? Your classmates may not have helped you in your cute little cowboys-and-indians, cops-and-robbers game, but they and everyone else sure as hell took notice of you-"

"What, when I was lying and bleeding on the classroom floor?" Teru spat.

"As I've said, they weren't exactly supportive," Flagg resumed. "OK, so some of them did think that you were fucking stupid for taking on the proverbial wolves among sheep. But some did admire you, Teru. They were just too chicken-shit to say so."

Teru gave Flagg a brief, yet acute glance. Flagg's words were conciliatory and possibly sympathetic. So why was Teru so sure that Flagg was somehow mocking him?

"Anywhodiddly," Flagg continued, "You see that naked broad on the card? Very conspicuous, very noticeable. Just like you as a kid. Weren't you the one who caught that eye of that one chess player only to later discover that he was the Bobby Fisher? Weren't you nearly given a goddamn medal of honor by Hann- I mean by that Lent guy? Weren't you the one who was the "prince" of Tokyo U? You've always been introverted, but that's never stopped women and occasionally guys (Flagg grinned even wider at Teru, but the grin fell after he realized that Teru wasn't offended by the thought of men craving him) from becoming enamored with you."

Teru thought about this. He tried his hardest then not to become distracted during his Johann Wolfgang von Goethe readings whenever young women stood closely by him or walked near him, but not even his raging erections could sway him from his ascetic life of academia. This was the case even now. Really, how many times had his secretary intentionally leaned over his desk to give him his files, simultaneously gracing him with an ample view of her bra-less, C-cup goodness? Well... Teru didn't actually count the number of times, but he was sure that no one else in his office was receiving the same kind of attention.

"Some people combine the fourth and fifth card to get a more complete picture," Flagg said. "I'm one of them. So when I combine your near past, the Devil, with your distant past, the Star, you know what picture we get?"

Teru remained silent, not wanting to know the answer yet wanting to know it all at the same time.

"Your perfection is just about transparent to everyone on the planet," Flagg grinned, "And you're stuck worshiping a god whom you suspect is inferior to you."

Teru kept silent, yet his mind was anything but. The possible conclusions that Teru was drawing was Flagg's agonizingly abstruse fortune telling electrified his heart, short-circuited his conscience, and sent his soul reeling. Questions kept being born in the base of Teru's skull, and he tried his best to keep them there because he didn't have the answers he needed to feed them. Were the cards confirming Teru's worst fears, that Kira was a thoroughly unjust god, that he blocked the progress of human civilization rather than guided it to utopia? Was Kira's throne truly made of nothing more than manipulation, deceit, and self-centered greed? And what, if anything, was Teru supposed to do about it? Rebel against Kira? That and any other similar line of thinking was sheer madness.

Teru suppressed the wretched multitude of bastard questions as best as he could and continued to listen to Flagg.

_Now, if you listen to the way the Christians explain it, they'll tell you that the world was created because of a snake, an apple, and the Devil. _

_That's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard in my life._

Flagg lifted up the sixth card, looked at it, and then showed it to Teru. The card showed an angel in the horizons, heavenly and majestic with a glorious sun shining over it. Beneath the angel stood a naked woman to the left and a naked man to the right. To the woman's left was an apple tree with a snake crawling up its trunk. To the right of the man was a blossom tree of sorts.

_Snakes are sacred animals. They represent rebirth._

"This is the Lovers card" Flagg said. "Now I know you Japanese are usually Shinto Buddhists, but you wouldn't happen to know the story of Adam and Eve, would you?"

_And apples? There ain't nothin' wrong with apples. Apples are good eating. _

"I know it," Teru said.

_And there ain't no Devil..._

"That one gets me all the time," Flagg snickered. "You wouldn't believe how many dipshits I've known who have used this story as an excuse to beat their waves and rape their daughters."

… _except maybe for the one that a man carries inside himself._

"So the card is about that story?" Teru asked.

"Yep," Flagg confirmed. "The Lovers card is all about choice. It was both that idiot girl and that pussy-whipped douchebag and those dumb-ass choices that kept your kind out of Paradise. And since this is the sixth card, the card should be taking place in the near future, let's say three months from now."

"So I'm going to have to make a choice about Kira?" Teru asked. "In about three months? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Not a bad hypothesis and likely the right one too," Flagg said. "Still, that doesn't do the card quite enough justice. See, the card isn't just about choices a person has to make; it's also about people undergoing great changes. It could very well be that in three months, you'll have to make a choice that will have inescapable repercussions and that depending on which choice you make, you'll be able to change into something new, something unexpected, something even greater than you are now." Flagg's mouth twisted itself into what was probably supposed to be an apologetic smile but came out looking like a sadistic grin. "Of course, that's just speculation on my part," he said with glittering eyes.

_I have been chosen to take the next step in evolution, to become something far more than just human! I am an angel!_

_Wrong, Credo! All that you've become is a demon!_

Teru mulled this over while Flagg selected the next card, took a look at it, and then whispered, "Oh my naughty little bitch, where have you been all my life?"

"Excuse me?" Teru said, hoping like hell that Flagg wasn't speaking to him.

Flagg turned the card over so Teru could see it. The card showed a road leading to a river with a lobster crawling out of it. Two dogs stood by this river, and farther behind the dogs stood two towers. In the sky levitated a large orb with several points rising out of the surface. Inside the orb was a crescent; right next to the crescent was pensive, contemplative face with closed eyes looking to the left.

"The Moon," Flagg said. "This card's all about hidden things and deception. What this means is that the situation you've been a part of now for the last few months, that of being one cold-blooded, take-no-prisoners terminator kicking ass and taking names for one pissed off god of wrath... well, needless to say, there's some things about this scenario that Kira hasn't clued you into yet."

"Like what?" Teru asked, trying to appear calm on the outside, yet feeling sick on the inside.

"Well, it could be any number of things," Flagg said in a mock-non-nonchalant voice. "Kira could be planning to, oh, I don't know, fuck you over like the remorseless bastard he is. You yourself said that your methods are superior to Kira's. Well, your way of doing things are undeniably more... 'noticeable', and you've managed to make people as afraid of God as they were back in the days when they thought that stoning women who weren't married or virgins made total sense. But intellect, Teru? I'd hate to say it, but I think you and Kira are neck-to-neck on that one. Case in point, after that little show you put on for Kira, what makes you think that he has any intention of letting you continue to serve him, let alone allowing you to continue existing? You know Kira; he demands total and complete obedience. The moment you showed that you were something more than a spineless worm was probably the moment that Kira decided that he could live without your aid."

Teru could feel his heart tighten, throbbing painfully. His hands clutched his knees, attempting to will the pain away. No, no, that one night where he had told Ryuk that he was the better killer was an act of desperate frustration. Surely Kira knew this! Surely...

Teru got up and paced around aimlessly. He looked utterly frantic.

"I... I can't do this anymore, Randall," Teru said, running a hand through his hair. "I can't take this anymore, I just can't! If Kira really is planning on eliminating me, then I might as well just wait for it to happen! There's nothing I can do once Kira makes up his mind about something! Kira is God! I'm just-"

"Settle yourself down and sit," Flagg responded calmly. "We've still got some more cards to draw and-"

"Goddammit, you parochial idiot!" Teru screamed, his eyes bulging in unadulterated terror. "Don't you get it? Don't you see the directions those cards are pointing at! They want me to oppose him! They want me to end his reign! I can't give them that! There's no possible way!"

"Boy, you are beginning to try my patience," Flagg said, poison starting to creep back into his voice. "Now do yourself a favor and sit back down before I-"

"BEFORE YOU WHAT?" Teru screamed. "BEFORE YOU KNOCK ME DOWN! BEFORE YOU BREAK MY LEGS! BEFORE YOU PERFORM VIVISECTION ON ME! YOU MIGHT AS WELL DO ME THE FAVOR, YOU GAUDY COMIC BOOK FREAK, BEFORE KIRA COMES TO-"

Teru did happen to see Flagg move, so he couldn't say that he had no idea that Flagg was moving in order to smash his fist into Teru's cheek. Still, while Teru could see Flagg leap to his feet and then streak across to Teru's location, his mind was not quite up to the task of processing just how incredibly swift his guide was moving. However, Teru was up to the task of recognizing the stinging pain that reverberated across his face once the impact had been felt.

Having experienced a cinder block crash into his head, Teru landed on the ground. Some swirling sand eneterd his throat, and he coughed and wheezed as he tried to get his bearings straight. Flagg grabbed Teru by the neck of his thobe and pulled him up; for a brief moment, Teru had hoped that Flagg was merely doing him a kindly service after having taught Teru an appropriate lesson. Much to Teru's disappointment and terror, Flagg was just getting started.

"LISTEN TO ME, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF GROVELING SHIT!" Flagg screamed, red faced, veins bulging, spittle flying into Teru's horrified face. "I HAVE NEITHER THE TIME OR THE INCLINATION TO PUT UP WITH ANYMORE OF YOUR JAP FAGGOT BULLSHIT! I AM SUPPOSED TO DELIVER THE TAROT TO YOU AND TO TAKE YOUR SORRY ASS TO THE CAVE, AND THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I INTEND TO DO EVEN IF IT MEANS THAT I HAVE TO CHEW YOUR FUCKING LEGS OFF AND DRAG YOU THERE MYSELF! NOW GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER BEFORE I RIP OFF YOUR HEAD AND SKULL FUCK YOU!"

Willing up all the courage he had left, Teru grinned weakly into Flagg's monstrously furious face. "So this is your real face, huh?" Teru smirked, hoping this would defuse the situation rather than give Flagg an excuse to pull out his larynx. "This is what lies behind that ridiculous mask of yours: not a glib thug, but... but an irascible, fierce animal."

Flagg allowed his grip to gradually loosen and his features relaxed in turn. He gazed at Teru with a mixture of suspicion and admiration, as if he were unsure as to whether he should proudly pat Teru on the back for his impressive nerve or pry open his chest cavity for his intolerable audacity.

"What makes you think I have a true face?" Flagg asked, beginning to grin again.

"... you tell me," Teru smirked, which ultimately belied his current state of immense fear . It was the only retort that he could come up that could possibly appease and amuse Flagg.

Flagg began to chuckle. Then he began to laugh. Finally, he began to roar with laughter, staring right at the sun while he did it, seemingly unharmed by the ultraviolet rays.

Flagg abruptedly stopped laughing, and stuck his hand out with a fierce grin.

"Let's just chalk this up to some frayed nerves, OK?" Flagg said, the same _Oh, gee, me rape a little old lady? Shucks!_ grin returning to his lips. "You got a bit nervous. You got a bit scared. But hey man, that's cool and fine like dandelion wine because as strong as Kira may be, there's no way that he could force himself into your dream." A sadistically celebratory edge briefly streaked across his once guilty demeanor. "And if he did somehow manage to perform that daunting task, we would know it once we felt his gore and blood rain around us."

Teru, having decided that now was not the best time to ask exactly how this gauche action could be carried out, took Flagg's hand, tried not to notice his skin crawling, lifted himself up, and walked back to his previous position. His face still ached from that uncannily powerful punch of Flagg's, but Teru was able to observe some more things about his relatively eccentric guide. Flagg's previous outburst and nearly ineffable facial transformation would have tipped off anyone, idiot or genius, that Flagg was more than the sum of his parts, that he was something that hid from the conscious world and built empires in nightmares. Flagg's latest display of terrifying speed, strength, and fury, Teru was all but certain that, in this dream at least, Flagg was either inhuman, metahuman, or something else all together.

_Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money... they can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. _

Or maybe he was something that simply couldn't be understood.

_Some men just want to watch the world burn._

Flagg picked up the ninth card, looked it over, and then gave it a response that Teru found to be very curious. Instead of laughing hoarsely with his eyes glinting with badwill as they had repeatedly before, Flagg's face fell. Flagg stared at the card for a few moments, as if trying to piece together a clear memory from only a few scuttled pieces. In that gaze was fear, trepidation, confusion, and, overall, deep dread.

Teru shifted uncomfortably. The idea of something, of anything scaring his seemingly intrepid guide was not one that appealed to Teru. If Teru was going to have to travel through a Kira-forsaken desert with God-knows-what inhabiting it, then he would prefer his guide to be resolute. If that necessitated Flagg being a degenerate psychopath, then so be it. Beggars could not be choosers after all. However, the last thing Teru needed was a degenerate psychopath guide who could fall to pieces at the proverbial drop of a hat.

"Are you OK?" Teru said at last.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine," Flagg said weakly, wiping sweat off of his face with his arm. "I just... I think I've got a bit of a bad history with this card-"

"You think?" Teru said, confused. "What do you mean you 'think'? How can you not know-"

"My memory ain't like that!" Flagg snapped. "It's... it's murky, alright! And don't bother asking me why because-"

Flagg stopped, noticing that Teru was beginning to point behind his guide with slightly stunned, mostly confused eyes. Flagg turned his head and saw what had taken Teru's attention: a cubist herd made up of grey, black, and white creatures were beginning to pass by the two, and if it wasn't a funeral procession, then it came very close to it.

At the head of the march was a woman with a dead child cradled in her arms. The woman was weeping hysterically, yet walking all the same. Occasionally, she looked up to the sky and screeched a dirge of unidentifiable, nonsensical vowels and syllables, as if berating God in an exclusive language created by grief and madness. A bull walked beside her, continually turning its head to look at the Wasteland and to look at her. The bull had peculiar facial expression: it looked as if it were recovering from some great trauma and was now residing in a state of numbed acceptance and sorrow.

Teru took a closer look at the bull, and his suspicions were confirmed: the tail of the bull was actually a flame with smoke rising from it. The bull was apparently not aware of this physiological oddity; if it was aware, then it didn't seem to mind it.

Behind the woman, child, and bull, walked a horse with a javelin stuck in its side. The horse looked to be in great pain but continued onward nevertheless. It tripped here and there, and whenever this occurred, it would emit a _neigh_ of agony that was not greatly noticeable, but only fairly so. Despite this unfortunate situation, the horse would pick itself up whenever it fell and resume its long, torturous, slow stride. It probably did not have that long to live.

There was another reason for the horse's suffering: the horse was equipped with a saddle, and the leg of a dead soldier was caught in the roping. Consequently, the horse had no other alternative but to act as a beast of burden and to drag this corpse along with him. Death apparently wasn't enough to cure the soldier of whatever tragedy had befallen him during his last moments, for he wore a posthumous expression of great shock and terror. However, whether the cause was courageous perseverance or simply rigamortis, the soldier still clutched a sword in his hand. The sword was just as strange as the menagerie it was a part of; the blade was broken, and an incongruent flower bloomed from the hilt. Nonetheless, the sibling of the soldier's hand was not to be overshadowed: his other hand bore the mark of a stigma, blood trickling from the gaping wound. Teru involuntarily sneered at the sight of the stigma but was not aware of his own puzzling reaction.

A light-bulb connected underneath to a round lamp inexplicably hovered over the head of the horse. The light-bulb, the lamp, and the unnatural glow it gave off even in the already jarring light of the Wasteland resulted in the apparent image of an evil eye following the group, conceivably mocking them and laughing at them all the while. A frightened woman floated by the horse, near the evil light-bulb though keeping her distance from the latter. However, she did bravely extend a lamp near the evil light-bulb. Teru noticed that the lamp gave off negative light just like light-bulb; despite this, neither the light-bulb nor the lamp cared much for one another or their close proximity and occasionally gave off warning sparks. For some reason that Teru could not identify, this obvious enmity disturbed him and gave him a sense of unease.

**ABRUPT ENDING OF CHAPTER V PART A**

**PART B IS READY!**


	9. Chapter VII Nativity In Black Part B

**CHAPTER VII:**

**NATIVITY IN BLACK**

**(PART B)**

**

* * *

**

Another wretched soul, this one a woman, staggered under the floating woman. This woman was seemingly entranced with the evil light- bulb, gazing at it with a reverence that suggested that something unprecedented was set to crawl out from it, an electric messiah to conduct humanity like a large computer chip board.

A small bird sat on the bull and seemed very agitated, leaping here, leaping there in small jumps, always on the head of the bull. It was apparently disturbed by the very sight of both the evil light-bulb and the lamp, as if one was not better than the other, as if both posed a threat to its well-being. The bull took no notice of his compatriot's anxiety.

The woman at the head of the tragic parade stopped to scream her lunatic chant once more, and Teru gasped as he noticed that the woman's tongue was not a tongue at all, but a dagger. Teru took a closer look at each of the members and found that the horse and the bull both had dagger tongues, for what reason Teru couldn't guess.

The last figure of this most motley crew was either a man or a woman set on fire; the flames were so large and red that Teru had difficulty in discerning the gender of the victim. Incredibly, despite the incredible torture that the person must have been going through, the person moved slowly with a weary expression on his/her face. It was as if that person had been burning for a long time now, had resisted it for so long, and then gave into the pleasures of the flames knowing that further rebellion was ineffective and fruitless. Teru found himself hating this person without understanding why.

The ensemble paced their way through the sand and past Teru and Flagg. Teru watched as they moved farther and farther away from him until they eventually became an ever diminishing dot. The dot eventually negated its own existence upon the horizon. Teru turned around to see that Flagg was picking his fingernails with a straightened paper clip the whole time.

"Um-" Teru began.

"Pablo Picasso's 'Guernica'", Flagg said nonchalantly. "You know it?"

"I do," Teru said.

"Hard to believe they're still upset about that bombing" Flagg commented. "I mean, it happened how many years ago? Live and let live, I say."

"Your compassion is remarkable, Randall," Teru said dryly. "I'll be sure to nominate you for the Noble Peace prize. And the citizens of Spain treasure you, I'm sure."

"Blame Franco, not me," Flagg said flippantly. "Although, it does make sense that they're here. The painting is all about chaos and misery. The Wastelands does tend to embrace such 'tragic' (and here Flagg grinned again) events."

"Somethings not right about the painting though," Teru said.

"Yeah?" Flagg asked, not really sounding all that interested. He reached for the next card as Teru spoke.

"In the original the light-bulb is darker and the lamp is brighter," Teru explained, "but here they both look dark. Do you think that means anything?"

_And when that boy smeared the blood of the lamb onto his mouth, I knew, I knew that I had finally found my son. _

"Maybe, maybe not," Flagg said apathetically. "Shit, I don't know. Look, lets get back to it, OK? I indulged you enough in watching those freaks because I knew you wouldn't be able to pay attention when the Flaming Torch over there made his way by you."

Twisting his eyebrow in irritation with one set of fingers, Flagg used the other to show the card to Teru. The card showed a large vertical granite structure against the background of night. To the right of the building, a man of apparent royal appearance fell downwards head first with a look of sheer panic spread across his face. To the left, a woman in regal garb fell head first in the same manner. At the top of the building was an explosion.

"This is, the, uh, Tower," Flagg said, clearing his throat. "It represents energy and upheaval. The astrological sign is very appropriate for you, I think. It's Mars, the Roman god of war. You know, he gets a bad rap most of the time, but he always struck me as a half-way decent guy. Bloodthirsty? Yes. Egocentric? What god isn't? But he could make death funny, and that is a highly valuable and underrated quality. And if you think Ares was destructive, you should've seen the guy who killed and replaced him. Fuck, that guy killed so many gods that-"

Teru coughed into his fist impatiently. Flagg gave him an irritated look but got the message.

"Right, this is the ninth card, so this card represents the environment of the question," Flagg said. "The question was 'What should Teru do about Kira?'. Now, having only recently seen you act like an infuriating prick, I sense that you are having some misgivings about hunkering down with Kira and forming some sort of reasonable dialogue. Of course, how will you, a mere mortal, ever get such a deity as Kira to listen to you? How will you indeed get the guy to even listen to you before he reaches all the way down into your throat and tears out your heart? It'll take some trick, some stratagem you've yet to invent. And that, my dear child, is going to take much, much more energy than you're used to."

"I will admit that my... questioning of Kira has been difficult for me," Teru said. "But given that the card is about the environment of the question, does it say anything about whether I should go through with this... encounter or not?"

"The Tower also refers to intuition," Flagg answered. "So my best advice on this one is to listen to whatever your hunches tell you to do. That's really all I can tell you."

Teru frowned at this advice. He relied upon intuition fairly often, probably no more or less than anyone else, but he wasn't exactly thrilled about something potentially catastrophic deciding the most difficult choice he ever had to make in his life.

Flagg picked the next card, his mood improving the longer the Tower was kept away from him. He arched another eyebrow at the selection, and then showed the card to Teru.

The card showed an eight spoked wheel situated in the center with various obscure symbols drawn all over the wheel. The wheel was set against a blue sky with gray clouds occupying each corner of the cloud. On the top of the wheel was a blue sphinx adorned in an Egyptian headdress. A red creature similar in appearance to the god Anubis rose with the wheel to the right. To the left, a yellow snake descended. There was also a yellow creature for each corner of the card, and each of them was reading. In the upper left hand corner was an angel. In the upper right was an eagle. In the bottom left was a winged ox. Lastly, the bottom right was a winged lion.

It was the Wheel of Fortune.

"This is the Wheel of Fortune," Flagg said, "and since its the tenth card, it represents your hopes and fears. Which is kind of strange, come to think about it, since this card portends good luck almost all of the time."

Flagg abruptedly leaned against one of his ribs with such force and speed that it made a loud _crack_ noise. Flagg sighed in relief. Teru had unwillingly winced.

"But I think it makes some sense if you think about it a certain way," Flagg continued. "We've already covered that you're going to have to do something about Kira, didn't we? Well, this card does bring good fortune, but really only in regards to the choice itself. So if you decide to grow a pair of balls and lose that cunt of yours, Lady Fortune will be more than happy to reward you with a BJ."

"A what?" Teru asked.

"Right, I gotta keep forgetting that these people don't speak my lingo," Flagg muttered to himself. Then to Teru he explained: "Look, just show Kira you're not a complete pansy and good things will happen to you, OK?"

Teru nodded, but frowned. It sounded like Flagg was patronizing him, and if that was the case, then it was probably Flagg's own luck that he was telling Teru's own fortune and not Kira's. Teru knew from experience that Kira was proud and that while it probably took a lot to truly infuriate God, one could probably expect to find himself/herself unwillingly leaping into a wood chipper after having insulted Kira one too many times.

"But there's still the hopes and fears factor to cover," Flagg said, "and I think I've got those figured out too. See, your hopes and fears are perfectly reasonable. You hope to talk some sense into Kira, to step up his campaign a bit. But you fear that Kira will use your severed head as a soccer ball after he's done breaking both your body and your mind. Very predictable, very sensible. But you'll notice that the astrological sign is Jupiter, who just so happens to be Zeus, who just so happens to be king of the Greek and Roman gods. And isn't that what you want, Teru? To improve Kira, that god of gods? To make him into a god who sits and watches the world, proficiently not just adequately dispensing judgment whenever it's called for? I think you want that Teru, hell, I know you want that, but I also think you're afraid of all that power and pride attached to being Kira's aide. Power drove Kira astray, didn't it? And this is a major deity that we're talking about here! No one is immune to the sweet promises of power though, are they? You can control the lust if you try hard enough, but it's so, so easy to become yet another Tony Montana-"

"Who's Tony Montana?" Teru asked.

Flagg sighed. "Alright, let's try this one more time: it's so, so easy to become another Faust. It's so, so easy to become another Icarus. It's so, so easy to become another Lucifer. It's so, so easy to lose your head and allow your power to control you rather than the other way around. Get the drift?"

Teru nodded his head. He indeed got the drift.

"So if Kira wasn't able to use all that power... 'responsibly'," Flagg concluded, "then I would think that you yourself have a relatively pessimistic view of how you would scrupulously persuade him to wield it. Am I right?"

Teru didn't reply. He himself wasn't sure of what the answer was, of how he felt. There was so much that he had believed in that he felt was being corroded away with revelation upon revelation, and it would be a lie to say that Teru wasn't hoping to go back to that time when things seemed so clear, where Kira's law was infallible, when the world made sense. Teru found himself beginning to resent, if not outright despise, Flagg for forcing him to question his beliefs, Kira for being the catalyst for all this soul-searching, but most especially himself for having allowed himself to be entangled in something he now suspected to be beyond him.

"Well, well, well," Flagg said, sounding very pleased with himself, as he picked up the next card, "And here I thought that this day couldn't get any better."

Flagg flipped the card and showed it to Teru. The bottom of the card showed a naked young boy riding an impressive-looking stead. A brick wall stood behind the boy and the horse, and healthy, vibrant sunflowers grew from the granite. From underneath the horse arose a black cape of sorts that almost reached the top of the card. But out of all the card's unique attributes, the one that had to be the most arresting was the one that levitated near the top, that stared upon the world with an unmoved look of contempt and perhaps even revulsion. It was the face of a being that had been worshiped for centuries. It was the face of an entity that provided sustenance for an entire world, who knew that it provided such nutrients, and who took the time and energy to graciously point out this little detail to everyone it could. It was the face of the largest star known to man, a massive, astronomical creation of hydrogen, helium, and plasma, whose shining brilliance could be paralleled by none.

It was the Sun.

"Here comes the son, here comes the son," Flagg sang in a, thankfully, tolerable volume, "And I say it's alright."

"Beatles," Teru said.

"You got it," Flagg said proudly, as if he were a teacher who had finally become proud of his struggling student's accomplishment. "Glad to finally nail at least one pop culture reference."

"Most pop culture is nothing but inane material deliberately orchestrated by large-scale, multi-national corporations in order to divert the public's attention away from the real issues," Teru answered. "Marx was not off when he said that religion was the opiate of the masses. However, if Marx were still around today, I do believe that he would have replaced "religion" with "television"."

Despite Teru's relatively cynical outlook of the entertainment of the masses, there came onto his face a smile. It was not a grin, and it was not a smirk. It did not convey murderous glee, nor did it convey portentous delight. Indeed, it was just that: a smile. It was a genuine smile, dreamy and nostalgic, likely brought on by something soothing and comforting that Teru had just recalled.

"But since The Beatles, my favorite band, are now legend despite their impact on the world being more or less recent, I suppose it means that the masses are not as ignorant as some have said them to be," Teru said. "I don't listen to much foreign music, you understand; my country already churns out enough shallow, idiotic pop music as it is, so I'm rarely inclined to listen to the moron sounds that other nations have to offer."

"Someone here never heard of Iron Maiden," Flagg said under his breath.

"But The Beatles were always there for me, you know?" Teru continued, either not having heard Flagg's comment or choosing to ignore it. "I've never met any of them, but years of listening to them makes me feel as if I have. The only thing that I could ever thank my father for," and here Teru's demeanor darkened considerably, "would be for leaving all of his Beatles records and memorabilia behind when he abandoned my mother and I. Even without knowing who they were or what they were saying at such a young age, I felt a link with them, a connection that I don't think I've experienced without anyone else. I may not have known Lennon or Harrison, and I might not be friends with McCartney and Ringo, but what does that matter? No matter how depressed I was, no matter how many time I was assaulted, no matter how many times it seemed like my crusade to rid the world of justice was nothing more than a naïve child's fantasy, all I had to do was pop in the White album in order to feel better. Music may always be changing, but I don't think anyone is going to forget the contributions of the four men who made rock and roll a classy, heartfelt, and global sensation."

"A pity that Manson had to go and get them involved in that little crusade of his," Flagg grinned.

Teru's face fell and was replaced with his characteristic frown. "Do me a favor, will you, Randall?" He said. "Don't go mentioning that lunatic's name in conjunction with my heroes."

"Interesting," Flagg murmured with mock-curiosity. "And here I thought you would have idolized good old Charlie. After all, you two are oh so much alike."

It didn't take long for Flagg to realize that Teru's trembling and hateful expression meant that, had not Flagg knocked his lights out earlier, the subject of the tarot reading would probably have leaped on top of Flagg and used the spur of his shoe to slice his throat. Remarkably, Teru was keeping his cool despite his slight shaking.

"He and I are nothing alike," Teru hissed in a voice coated in poison. "Do you understand, Randall? Nothing! That man was a deluded thug who thought that he was the second coming of Christ! He brainwashed promising young men and women into becoming a part of his twisted-"

_Are you always this happy?  
_

_Uh-huh. _

_What's the secret?  
_

_We found the truth.  
_

_What's the truth?  
_

_Charlie is love. _

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry, OK? It was just a joke. Just a joke," Flagg said, leaning back with his palms up in a submissive fashion and with an apologetic look to boot. Ordinarily, Teru would have found no reason to doubt someone's apology if they went this far with it, but a glint in Flagg's eye compelled Teru to suspect that his desultory guide wasn't quite as regretful as he claimed to be. "Anyway, switching gears here, but you know how Lennon said that The Beatles were more popular than Jesus H. Christ himself?"

"I recall something to that effect," Teru said, beginning to calm down.

"Well, that's pretty much what the Sun card is telling you," Flagg replied. "This is literally the best card in the deck, Teru. It's the Holy Grail, the Rosetta Stone, the frickin' Stairway To Heaven of the cards. The very best goddamn card. At the very least, it can soften all the negative effects of all the other cards we drew if not negate them entirely. Are you following me so far on just how incredibly valuable this card is?"

Teru nodded almost dumbly, too encumbered by the ever increasing rate of his heart-beat to be able to formulate a verbal answer.

"Astrologically speaking, the sun is the strongest planet there is-" Flagg started.

"It's not a planet," Teru interrupted. "It's a star."

"And it is the force that gives and sustains life," Flagg continued, ignoring Teru's interjection. "It represents a person's true purpose in life. It is the creative force that runs our universe. It signifies the exact innermost essence of what a person tries to achieve in life. In other words, you may pass 'Go', you may collect $200, and you may skip jail."

"Why would I go to jail in the first place?" Teru asked with complete sincerity.

"... forget it," Flagg said. "All you need to understand is that, for whoever gets this card, it's smooth sailing from then on out. And since this is the seventh card, which is the outcome of this whole conflict, it-"

"Does that mean that I'm going to be successful in winning over Kira?" Teru suddenly broke in loudly. If his heart had been pounding before, then it was practically thundering with joy, threatening to reach a speed that even his impeccable body could withstand. Flagg could almost feel sorry for the poor dope; the kid looked so sure of himself now, so confidant, so optimistic, so much like the Teru that Flagg needed to use against Kira. Flagg would have lied to to Teru about his chances if he really thought that it would insure his victory, but knew that getting the little sociopath's hopes up could and probably would lead to overconfidence, which would probably lead to Teru being pushed in front of a bullet train. (And wouldn't Yagami come after you? Flagg thought to himself. You may be... hell, not even I know what you are, but even if I did and even if you did and even if Yagami did, do you really think that that would stop Yagami from trying to track us down? Even Dracula himself was offed by some asshole limeys, Randall, my boy.)

"... no..." Flagg said at last. He said it without feeling or attitude, uncharacteristic of him, but intended to lessen the impact on Teru.

Unfortunately, the impact on Teru was probably not successfully alleviated in any way whatsoever. His overjoyed face gradually fell until it resulted in a frown that was even more pitiful than before. The spark that had miraculously kindled in his eyes gave out, like a meteor burning away violently in the ionosphere. His body, then upright and tense with eagerness, sank into it's usual sense of low-valence pessimism and doubt.

Shit, he didn't want the kid to completely lose hope! He just wanted to bring him back to Earth a bit! An uncertain and apprehensive Teru was the last thing that Flagg needed. He needed to pump some confidence into the little fucker, and he needed to do it now.

"But that doesn't mean you won't actually win!" Flagg exclaimed. "It just means that it'll be, uh, it'll be difficult! But, believe me, kid, you are literally the only one who can come to some sort of accord with Kira, literally the only one who can save the world! It's your destiny, for fuck's sake!"

"Is that what the card says?" Teru asked quietly.

"Yes!" Flagg exclaimed.

"Then what are my chances?" Teru asked.

"Your chances?" Flagg asked, frowning, not knowing precisely what Teru was alluding to.

"Of contacting Kira and living to tell of it," Teru said.

Flagg rubbed his neck through his shirt, like a desperado in a spaghetti western or a samurai in a _chanbara_ flick. "Bad new first," Flagg said after some time. "You've got at least a fifty fifty chance. You might actually have a sixty forty chances, a seventy thirty chance, hell, maybe even a one hundred percent chance at seeing Kira, but my _magick_ isn't that good. Not even Aleister Crowley could look into the future perfectly, you know. I can see glimpses of what will happen after your oh-so-imminent encounter, but all I can see is humanity praising Kira with even more energy. Maybe that's because Yagami will go on vacation or something and let you hold his office a bit. Maybe that's because Yagami will survive and become an even stricter sadist after he... deals with you. I don't know."

"But there is good news!" Flagg said before Teru could form a response. "The Sun favors you. It doesn't favor Yagami. You've got the advantage there. And your relationship offers some unique... advantages and disadvantages." Flagg took off a hat and ran his hand through his thick, oily hair while his grin stubbornly recreated itself. "Ryuk told you that Yagami and you are almost exactly alike, right? Well, that may be so, but neither you nor Jim Jones seem to acknowledge that, if your relationship is anything to indicate. Really, you two should be like coffee and cigarettes, like salt and pepper, like, uh, Batman and Superman-"

"I've always been more partial to Batman," Teru said.

"Whatever!" Flagg said, waving away this minuscule objection. "Point is, you've been acting like the guy's sidekick when we all know that you're on equal footing with him. Yagami is the dominant participant in this cloak and dagger bullshit; you just so happen to be Yagami's dog, his lackey, his tool that he will eventually throw away when he realizes that he has no use for it. So instead of becoming distressed with what I am sure is soul-shattering information, why don't you stop acting like a punk-ass bitch and start using the hand you've been dealt?"

"I'm not sure I follow your meaning," Teru said without much feeling.

"Yagami has been Kira for so long that he's used to it," Flagg grinned once more. "And that's when dictators get sloppy. Believe me, I know. I've been there. It's when a man convinces himself that there's no one left to oppose him that he feels his greatest sense of peace and leaves himself open for insurrection. And you, what have you been used to? Really, not much more than being a scared little bitch. You're not proud. You're not confident. Both you and Kira are used to all this." Somehow, Flagg's grin spread even farther, as if he were letting Teru in on the greatest joke involving dead babies known to man. "Now I can't give you any specific directions on what to do. I may be one scheming son of a bitch, but I work best with the kind of sheep who obey FOX News and the Right Reverend I-Hate-Queers McGee. Yagami is simply not that. But he is a man not used to losing, and he is a man whose pride will probably fuck him over at some point. And you, you're a man used to being nothing more than muscle for a egocentric boy so full of himself that he can't see the forest for the trees. So while I can't give you any solid advice, I can say this: Yagami is proud. You're humble. He's like a father who thinks that his obedient son could never even lay a hand on him unaware that it will only be a few years before that son kills him off in order to get the inheritance. So do yourself a favor and use this opportunistic inequality to your advantage."

_O, sir, content you. I follow him to serve my turn upon him. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters cannot truly be followed. _

"I don't..." Teru said, running a hand through his comparatively silkier hair. "I don't know what to say to that. I really don't. I... I mean, I wouldn't even know where to start-"

"Like I said, I can only show you the doorway," Flagg said, reaching for the next card. "Whether you plan to speak with him earnestly yet respectfully or to torment him psychologically like that Jigsaw guy used to is all up to you."

Flagg looked at the card, and then flipped it to show Teru.

In the middle of the card was a cart that, once plain stone and cement, looked particularly attractive with it's adornment of regal and royal coverings and emblems. An equally majestic looking young man stood inside the cart, with an expression of passionate yet restrained determination. Though it was obvious just from looking at his clothes that the young man was of some noble lineage, he wore the armor of a medieval knight. Surrounding the cart were eight sphinxes, all with similar striped Egyptian headdresses and postures, but each distinct in appearance.

_Christ, we have actual apocalyptic crap to deal with and here you all want to go playing cowboys and Indians!_

_I disagree. If we all join forces-_

_Which you'll lead because you're the genius of the group, right?_

_It doesn't take a genius to see that the world has problems._

_Yeah, well, it takes a room full of morons to think that one man can solve them. _

"This is the Chariot," Flagg said. "Basically, its your vehicle of change. It also stands for determination in general, and it can mean that the querent, that's you by-the-by, is assuming new philosophies and ideologies. How that could pertain to you is beyond me," Flagg added with more than a pinch of sarcasm but also with that accursed smile of his.

"The Chariot..." Teru murmured to himself.

"What?" Flagg asked.

"No, it's nothing," Teru said, not finding his present recollection to be all that pressing, yet yearning to share it with someone, to share it with anyone, to share it even with a warped deviant like Flagg. "It's just... it reminds me of an old story I read once. It was the Book of Kings, I believe. You know the one about the prophet Elijah and how he ascended into Heaven on a chariot of fire? Well, the card reminded me of that, that's all. Nothing important."

"You're probably wrong there, amigo," Flagg said. "As I recall it, Elijah handed over his gig to Elisha before he split. Not surprisingly then, the Chariot is all about new beginnings and successes." Flagg tapped the card against his mouth, as if deep in thought. "Now, could that story refer to you in any way, I wonder?" Flagg grinned. "Could there perhaps be a parallel between Elisha's position and yours."

Teru immediately caught on to what Flagg was insinuating. "Elijah gave Elisha his position out of his own volition," he countered.

"The Bible is a highly interpretative text despite what those loony TV preachers may tell you," Flagg responded. "But, and not to change the subject here, but I'm going to change the subject by saying that something is off with this card."

"What is it?" Teru asked.

Flagg tapped the card with his finger. "There's eight sphinxes in this card," he explained. "There's only supposed to be two sphinxes, one white, one black, both with the same headdress. Yet there's eight here, and, as you can see, they all look different from one another."

"What does that mean?" Teru asked.

Flagg frowned; he was not a man who took kindly to unexpected changes in his plans. "I'm not sure, to tell you the truth," Flagg confessed. "But I do have my suspicions, and that's better than nothing. The original two sphinxes are meant to carry the chariot, right? Well, it looks like there's going to be about eight of those freaks dragging your chariot there, kiddo. Which means (And here Flagg looked Teru dead in the eyes; Teru managed to resist recoiling from the gaze of those inhuman eyes) you may have very well acquire a team in the near future. And since this is the twelfth card, this should be taking place in the beginning of the second year, right after your confrontation with Kira, should you decide to halt your menstrual cycles and grow a pair."

The mentioning of a possible rebellion quited Teru into a contemplative silence once again. After a few moments, Teru spoke again:

"What if I die?" Teru asked quietly.

"Then Kira uses your team to insure complete and total obedience from humanity," Flagg grinned. "Not that would do anything different of course."

Teru's eyes changed from sullen to indignant. "I would use whatever alliance I possessed in order to bring peace and order to this world, not to impose tyranny," he retorted.

"Hombre, your team could turn out to be Judas Priest and your mission could turn out to be staging a Broadway musical adaptation of Fight Club, and that would interest me about as much as C-SPAN," Flagg said, drawing the next card. "Remember, I'm just the messenger boy. Whatever happens between you and Rob Halford stays between you and Rob Halford."

"I should probably be upset with you for that comment except I have no idea what you just said," Teru muttered.

"Right, shut the hell up and take a gander at this," Flagg said. He picked the next card, studied it briefly, shrugged as if his discovery was merely mundane, and then showed it to Teru. What Teru noticed first was the image set in the foreground, that of a fair maiden of an earlier time and another land either trying to pet or trying to force the jaws of a growling lion open. Why the woman was anywhere near the lion, Teru didn't know: there had to be saner, less painful ways of committing suicide. A unusual looking halo that criss-crossed around itself as if badly imitating the number eight and hovered over the woman's head. In the background of the card was a moderately high hill. Beyond that was a castle of the medieval European variety, consistent with the appearance of the woman.

"This is the Strength card," Flagg said, probably bored. "Under the more immediate circumstances, it doesn't say much more than common sense already has. It signifies patience, endurance, control, and, hold on to your seats for this one, boys and girls, 'strength'."

Flagg eyed Teru with something like a bit of apathetic pride, like a father yawning upon the news that his freakishly intelligent son has aced yet another test, hallelujah, amen, and may the lord be praised.

"I suppose that I don't need to tell you that you're much, much, much more patient than Yagami," Flagg said. "From what I hear, and I hear much mind you, Yagami was a lot better at calmly waiting for things to happen back before he took a healthy, young man's interest in forcing people to leap of skyscrapers. Of course, now the little bastard thinks that he's God, and if he's God, then good golly Miss Molly, then it would be sacrilege on the part of we mortals to expect him to act like a rationale adult. I trust that you recall how Yagami graciously imitated Scarface for you while you were in that phone booth."

Teru recalled it well. With something like a lump in his throat, he remembered feeling humiliated, ashamed, and terrified all during that one conversation. It was, after all, not all that easy to forget how Kira had run the emotional gamut from casual friendliness to paternal sternness, from kind understanding to unbridled fury. But most of all, Teru remembered the one dark corner of his mind that he had done his best not to acknowledge following that catastrophic exchange, a black dahlia coyly trying to grab Teru's attention from a field of white carnations. The white carnations were what the thoughts that Teru had been trying his best to believe in, all of which were excuses for Kira's behavior. A bundle of these carnations would have contained remarks such as _Who am I to question Kira?_, _Kira is stressed out enough as it is without having to endure an obtuse fool like myself, _and _Kira is never wrong; there must be something about Kramer that I don't know, something that would shatter my heroic self-image of him if I knew it._ The black dahlia, on the other hand, offered a starkly different message to any who deigned to stop and smell its rank odor, and it carried such messages in abundance.

The white carnations crooned their songs in tender, if not entirely woeful, tunes. The black dahlia, had Teru approached it more closely, would have likely grabbed his hair and pulled him close while it screamed that Kira was nothing more than a fraud, that the condemnation of someone like Kramer was the tell-tale sign that there was something rotten in the state of Japan, and that Teru was nothing more than a coward for abiding it all.

_Then you perceive the body of our kingdom, how foul it is; what rank diseases grow, and with what danger, near the heart of it. _

"If you do happen to... get Kira to listen to you," Flagg said in a voice better suited for discussing household chores, "then the card takes on a much more intriguing meaning. As this is the thirteenth card, it represents the middle of the second year, providing you live past Kira's attempts to feed you to a rabid pack of hyenas."

"What will happen during that time?" Teru asked.

"Oh, I would imagine that you would start screaming for mercy at first, then call Kira every name in the book before your flesh began to be torn-" Flagg started.

"I meant during the middle of the second year!" Teru interrupted.

"Oh... right," Flagg said. "Well, like I said before, I can only see brief glimpses of the future, not clear images of what will definitely happen." Flagg started digging inside one of his coat's interior pockets and finally produced what he had been looking for. After digging around a little more, he brought out a match, struck it against the stubble of his neck, and _voila,_ fire was born. With this, he lit his joint. After taking a particularly long rip from it, Flagg motioned for Teru to take a hit from the gift of the Heavens. Teru waved his hand in denial. All of this supernatural brouhaha was draining enough; the pot would probably relax him, and relaxation was a great thing at times like these, but Teru's tolerance for cannabis was still premature, and the idea of his singing all of the Utada Hikaru songs he knew did not strike him as particularly appealing given his current whereabouts.

Flagg rolled his eyes, but continued speaking. "I can see... a tower." Flagg said at last, his persistent grin resurfacing. Teru was confounded; didn't the mere mention of a tower cause Flagg to act unnaturally trepid only moments ago? "And this isn't any ordinary tower either. I don't know what tower it is, but it's something big, something long sought after and kingly. Hell, it may even be godly." Flagg squinted his eyes a little more. "Oh ho ho, and I can see some of your allies too- Christ, and they say the Manson family was eccentric- and it looks like... yeah, they're going to help you summon something. Don't ask me what it is because I've only got a few clues at hand. Maybe its the tower. Maybe it isn't. I don't know. But what I do know is that I can see brief visions of this little Mickey Mouse club of yours putting in a helluva lot of energy, time, and tenacity in order to raise something, an unknown something, but a piss-your-pants scary something nonetheless."

_Up with my tent! Here will I lie tonight— but where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. Who hath descried the number of the traitors?_

_Six or seven thousand is their utmost power._

_Why, our battalia trebles that account! Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength, which they upon the adverse faction want._

Flagg took another hit while Teru thought of another matter. Strangely, all this talk of allies, towers, and premonitions didn't do too much in the way of pumping his blood or racing his heart. As exciting as those things may be in the future (If I have a future, Teru thought nervously), things in the current... "world" were already gripping enough, what with having to choose whether to to challenge the most destructive and intelligent power on the planet and all. But there was something else that bothered Teru especially as he watched the smoke rise and dissipate around Flagg. It was probably trivial, but hey, it's not like there was any harm in asking.

"Hey, Randall?" Teru said.

"Yeah?" Flagg grunted, taking another hit.

"It must be over one hundred degrees out here," Teru said, "and even with the clothes I'm wearing, I'm still sweating something horrible. So how is it that you're wearing that heavy leather coat without looking uncomfortable at all?"

Flagg pondered this for a moment with a mercifully blank expression. Then his mirthful and insane grin reared its ugly head once more, and Teru dug his nails into his knees to keep himself from screaming.

"Let's just say," Flagg grinned, "that I'm used to... more hellish terrains."

_Do you know what the most terrible thing about Hell is? It's not the fire. It's not the torture. It's the fact that God has closed himself off to you, that he refuses to be in your presence. That may not sound very devastating, but imagine all the times your parents have told you how dissapointed they were in you. Take that, multiply by the largest number you can think of, and you're still nowhere close to the agony you'll feel knowing that He wants nothing to do with you. _

Teru now seriously considered the possibility that there was much harm in asking this question.

Flagg checked the next card, and, considering that his malevolent grin had not changed whatsoever, Teru assumed (If you "assume", you make an "ass" out of "u" and "me", Teru warned himself to little effect) that Flagg was either looking at something that pleased him greatly, that interested him greatly, or, more horrible still, accomplished both tasks. Eventually, Flagg graciously treated Teru to this clue of the mystery that was the future.

The card showed an extraordinarily beautiful man (Probably more attractive than me, Teru thought without envy) standing inside a pond so thin that it only reached the tip of his toes. His attire was dubious in terms of temporality and nationality, but like the other cards, it seemed to have been inspired by early European garb if not directly taken from that period. The next most striking feature were wings. White wings. Gigantic, glorious, white wings, and though many would have probably have thought that such a man could not be more awe-inspiring, the wings indeed made him so.

The man was an angel.

_What's your name by the way?_

… _Gabriel Sylar._

_Gabriel? Did you hear that, Alejandro? He has the same name as the archangel! God must favor us!_

_That's right... just like an angel..._

"This is the card of Temperance," Flagg said. "As you can tell, Michael here enjoys robbing the spotlight, which compels many an asshole to simply refer to it as "the Michael card". But for the sake of consistency-"

"The archangel who threw Lucifer into Hell?" Teru asked.

"The very same," Flagg replied. "Of course, it's not as if glory boy here is as 'majestic' as everyone makes him out to be. Hell, most don't know how it was Lucifer who freed his sorry ass from Sandalphon and-"

Teru gave Flagg a strange look, compelling the latter to cut his rambling short.

"This is one of those long stories that you're somehow a part of that I know nothing about, isn't it?" Teru asked.

"Oh yeah," Flagg replied.

"Then perhaps it would behoove you to shut the hell up about whatever insane cosmic warfare you have undoubtedly graced with your malignant presence and to stick to the matter at the hand," Teru said dryly.

Flagg muttered something largely inaudible (although Teru could make out the words "bastard", "hacksaw", and "forcible entry"), but continued with his divination. "Alright, you notice how Michael is mixing the liquids from two separate cups in order to create a third?" Flagg asked. Teru nodded in turn. "Well, that's because Blondie here is trying to combine two vastly different chemicals, the act of temperance. That's why the zodiac sign for this card is the Sagittarius, or, if you prefer Greek mythology, the centaur."

"The half-man, half-horse creature?" Teru asked.

"A-yep," Flagg confirmed. "The man part (*snort*) -sorry, Teru,- represents intelligence, civility, philosophy, and all that other boring bullshit that people pretend to have or practice in order to fit in. The horse represents all the fun stuff that humans do their best to suppress yet fail miserably at: greed, wrath, lust, and bombs that you can drop on other countries from a safe distance so you don't have to watch their skin melt off their bones. Point is, a person needs to balance both sides in order to function in society."

_El, you really must try this because it's puerco pibil. It's a slow-roasted pork, nothing fancy. It just happens to be my favorite, and I order it with a tequila and lime in every dive I go to in this country. And honestly, that is the best it's ever been anywhere. In fact, it's too good. It's so good that when I'm finished, I'll pay my check, walk straight into the kitchen and shoot the cook. Because that's what I do. I restore the balance to this country. And that is what I would like from you right now. Help keep the balance by pulling the trigger. _

"Yourself being the obvious exception," Teru noted.

Flagg chose to ignore this; its not like the little shit was that far off anyway. "Now, you might think that this is all obvious," Flagg said, "But as this is the fourteenth card draw, the implications become far, far more interesting. Temperance is going to be stressed in the later part of the second year."

"What happens then?" Teru asked.

Flagg squinted his eyes, as if looking at the card with greater scrutiny would make his visions even more vivid and clear (and, as far as Teru knew, this may have very well been the case). "The climax," he said at last. "You're going to take on your equal... but, and you can relax, it's not Yagami. It's more like someone who's a brother to you."

"A brother?" Teru asked, confused. "But I don't have any siblings."

"It gets even weirder," Flagg said. "He's pretty much your polar opposite, but he's also someone you admire. You don't know him, yet you know of him. And while you two are about as similar as night and day, you share qualities with him that no one else does."

_So the Snake's finally come out of his hole! Are you ready now, my brother?_

_Why are you calling me brother? Who the hell are you!_

_I'm you! I'm your shadow!_

"Can you see what he looks like?" Teru asked.

Flagg concentrated. "I can't see much," he confessed after a few moments, almost apologetic. Almost. "Most of its just black. But I can see an even greater blackness within that. It's humanoid, whatever it is. Except for those eyes." Flagg shuddered in what appeared to Teru to be partly intimidation, but mostly perverse eagerness.

"Now, I can't tell who it is you're fated to meet," Flagg grinned though Teru noticed that the smirk seemed a little more forced this time, as if Flagg was a boy trying to laugh off his friends' stories of haunted houses and loose murderers, that seemingly assured grin whose owner knew that it was largely bravado and that the avoidance of specters and serial killers altogether was ideal. "Again, he is very much like you, yet he is very different than you. Like you, he's forced to temperate his desires for peace and justice with his urges to just go fucking ballistic on anyone who so much as even looks at him the wrong way. But the man knows his Zen and his martial arts. He's more of a V than he is a Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, if you catch my drift."

"I don't," Teru replied.

"Then suffice it to say that this guy is more inclined to... help people out rather than pummel your face in to the point where your dear old mother couldn't recognize you." Flagg grinned. "But don't let that concern you now. Kira is your immediate goal. Whoever, tall, dark, and spooky is, you won't have to worry about him until later."

"I understand," Teru said. "But all the same, I would like to hear whatever else you know about this man. For starters, how can I dispose of someone who is so much like me?"

Flagg stared at Teru like he was looking at an idiot. "Christ, here you went to college, and you don't even know the answer when it's right under your nose," Flagg _tsked tsked_ but still with that same grin, which was now seriously beginning to irk Teru. "Look, all you need is do is beat this guy at his own game. If you make your temperance better than his, then you'll have him at a serious disadvantage. Apparently, this guy is like a walking tornado when he's pissed, but anger blinds like a motherfucker, buckaroo. Of course, you could always just write the prick's name down, but you probably won't-"

Flagg suddenly stopped speaking and cocked his head. His eyes narrowed and focused on a particular patch of sand close to the two. Following Flagg's lead, Teru also glanced at the patch of sand, but then did a double take.

The sand was vibrating, and the vibration was becoming gradually but surely greater.

Teru whipped his head back to meet Flagg's gaze. Flagg didn't look panicked, but he also didn't look like a minor inconvenience was interrupting their amiable dialogue.

"OK, Teru, don't freak out," Flagg said, grin now gone, "But I'm going to need to need you to run as fast as you can. Left or right doesn't make a lick of a difference. Just move!" Flagg's voice became louder, and Teru became more than perturbed when he noticed that raw panic was beginning to seep into Flagg's formerly professional voice. "Now! Move your worthless ass now!"

Teru complied with his guide's instructions, running as fast as he could to the opposite direction of where he sat. And the further that Teru ran, the more that he could hear the sound of whatever the hell it was that Flagg had heard (although he could distinctly hear Flagg half-scream, half-sing, "Run to the hills! Run for your lives!" for whatever asinine reason) Eventually, Teru ran to a point where he could no longer feel the vibrations nor hear the sound of the sound of the rising ground. Running as fast as he could (which, due to his superb athleticism, was indeed quite fast), Teru could not see that Flagg had run off in the opposite direction. However, whether the cause was Destiny or simply coincidence, both Teru and Flagg leaped and landed on their stomachs, holding their arms over their heads the moment they felt something of preternatural height and width break through the ground and rise upwards.

Teru and Flagg looked up from their respective locations. From where they were, they couldn't see who or what their new visitor was in fine detail, but they could tell that whatever it was, it wasn't moving and didn't appear to be hostile. The two gradually and carefully made their way to this mystery of mysteries, and the details of this intruder became clearer the closer to the two came towards it. Halfway to their original card drawing spot, Teru noticed that this new presence seemed to be stiff, rigid... and artificial.

Eventually, Teru and Flagg stood in front of this new uncalled-for guest. At first, Teru gaped while Flagg, surprisingly, only _hmmed_ with a knowing look and tone.

"... you have got to be fucking kidding me," Teru said at last.

What stood in the sand, rising from the chest, was a naked, colored sculpture of a man looking downwards. The man was looking downwards, but his eyes were closed. The man had only a few sprouts of hair on his chest and long, effeminate eyelashes combined with a thick mustache and soul patch that gave both him a weirdly masculine and feminine appearance. Right below the man's gaze was a sculpture of the Death Note, and while the man's eyes were closed, neither Teru nor Flagg could shake the feeling that this man was blind to everything but the book in front of him.

The man's eyes may have been closed, but Teru who the sculpture was based off of the moment he laid eyes on it.

It was him.

"This dream keeps getting weirder and weirder, doesn't it?" Teru asked no one in particular.

_Dude, not even David Lynch's dreams are this weird. _

Flagg rubbed his chin in thought. "Well," he said after a pause, "It's probably not the work of the pumpkin or the raven. They're not exactly the foremost authorities on modernist art, you know. Maybe it's that reject of a Keebler elf, Lucien, but I-"

"Perhaps you ought to stop talking about Narnia or whatever other godforsaken fairy land you and your enemies inhabit," Teru said calmly enough, but with a tired, flustered edge, "and perhaps you could start by telling me just why there happens to be a rendition of De Chirico's _The Child's Brain _with me as the subject."

Flagg came closer to the sculpture and stood looking at it for a few moments. Then he kicked it, not with great force, but enough to see if it was responsive at all. Teru almost felt offended in spite of his confusion. Thankfully, the _Brain_ did not move; it was inanimate, not sentient.

"Not bad," Flagg murmured, still rubbing his chin. Teru thought that he looked like a gauche, insane art professor. "Not bad at all." Flagg suddenly snapped out of his introspection. "My bad", he said. "Why is the _Brain_ here, and why does it look more like you? Furthermore, did Freddy Mercury get the idea for that oh-so-marvelous mustache of his from Chirico? Answers: I don't know, it's your dream, not mine, and Mercury was gay as hell." Flagg turned to Teru with another shark grin; Teru found himself experiencing the same unique sensation of being intimidated by Flagg and wanting to strangle him at the same time. "Lordy, lordy, lord, can you believe that Adolf Hitler hated this avant-garde shit?"

"I can't say I blame him," Teru muttered, glaring at the sculpture. He didn't like it, he wasn't sure why he didn't like it, and he especially disliked not knowing why.

Flagg arched an eyebrow. "Huh, you never struck me as much as a closet Nazi," he said. "Now, as far as being a closet homo-"

"I am not a closet Nazi," Teru seethed, feeling angrier than he should have and knowing it. Why did that comment get to him so much? The idea of Teru Mikami, a sophisticated twenty first Japanese polymath who saw no real difference between the members of his pathetic species, being a Nazi was ridiculous. "I despise prejudice and bigotry of any sort. The Third Reich was right to want to build a classical renaissance society in the vein of Rome and Greece. Those ends were admirable. It was the means that were deplorable."

_Traitors! I've been betrayed and deceived from the very beginning! What a monstrous betrayal of the German people, but all those traitors will pay! They'll pay with their own blood!They shall drown in their own blood! _

Flagg held up his hands in a _Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't shoot the messenger_ pose. "Easy there, Indiana Jones," he smirked. "I may not have been educated at whatever fancy school you've been at, but when I'm not so stupid as to actually think that someone Japanese would actually espouse the virtue of _Mein Kampf. _That would be like... that would be like a Jew secretly becoming a skinhead leader! No, wait. That actually happened. OK, that would be like the US and USSR employing Nazi- fuck, that happened too! OK, it would be like a dominant country training a band of fanatic terrorists who would later attack that same-" Flagg broke off, noticing Teru's penetrating glare against the sculpture. "Hey, Freud, you listening to me here?"

"Modernist art was based largely off of Freud's theory of the unconscious," Teru murmured. "His theory was that when we dream, the things that we repress come to life in ways we can't accept while awake."

"Maybe," Flagg said sitting down into his original spot, now under the gaze of the _Brain_, "and probably so too. But I find it hard to agree with anyone who thinks that wanting to bang your mother is a natural instinct."

"I'm not much for the Oedipus complex either," Teru agreed, sitting down as well, one eye on Flagg, and the other still suspiciously cast on the sculpture. Strangely, Teru suddenly thought of his father, but pushed that thought away as far as he could. That man might have done the dirty deed with his mother, but that didn't make him his father at all. No, that hedonist had irreparably negated his right to be a father the moment that he had deserted his pregnant mother.

I have no father, Teru thought with a bitter sort of humor. I guess that makes me a bastard, doesn't it? Kira, you sure do enjoy having laughs at my-

No, Teru corrected himself with widening eyes. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It was so bloody obvious! I do have a father, Teru thought. Everyone has a father. God. God is everyone's father. Kira is my-

_You're not my son. You're just a little piece of competition. Bastard from a basket, bastard from a basket. You're a bastard from a basket! _

"You know, as much as I enjoy watching other people go mentally masturbate," Flagg interrupted in a bored tone, "we do have one more card to draw and-"

Teru now focused his full attention on Flagg, and the look that he gave the soothsayer nearly him cringe.

"My apologies," Teru said calmly but darkly. His eyes did not shine red, but they shined nonetheless. "I was just thinking about how Freud might have been right about the primordial struggle between father and son."

Flagg stared at Teru blankly for a few moments, nearly bewildered by just how fucking ominous the kid's face at the drop of a hat. But then, as sure as the sun must rise, Flagg's trademark grin returned and not just for showboating: Flagg and his associates had finally, finally come across what they had been looking for for so long now. With that one single look, Flagg was now convinced beyond a shadow of doubt that the kid did indeed have it. Teru Mikami was truly the one.

_What's happening to me?_

_You are the One, Neo. You see, you may have spent the last few years looking for me, but I have spent my entire life looking for you. _

"No harm done," Flagg grinned. "You're a deep thinker, a regular Socrates, and I like that. You don't get that very often, you know; most of the time you just get clueless sheep waiting for whatever president, king, or tyrant there is to point them in the direction of the nearest slaughter pen."

Flagg picked up the last card and held it upwards between his middle finger and his forefinger so that only he could see it. "We've only got one more card left to go," he grinned, "and after that, why, we'll resume our little journey on the yellow brick road."

Flagg gave the card one last final _Well, no shit, Sherlock, how did you think this was going to end? _Look and then showed it to Teru.

The card showed a skeleton dressed in a knight's armor and bearing a flag of some arcane emblem, riding atop a stern-looking steed. A king, woman, and child lied in front of this ghastly horseman, as if they had no choice but to submit to the unrelenting drive of this new visitor. Contrastingly, a priest stood tall and proud in the face of what was likely to be his untimely doom, heeding no danger, likely too certain of his own faith to tremble in fear of this grim reaper.

"Death," Flagg said with an air of finality. "Nowhere near as hot as the actual thing, but-"

"Randall!" Teru snapped. Flagg shook himself out of his verbal deviation, and saw that, despite the brave face that Teru was putting on, the kid was obviously becoming nervous about this talk of expiration and necrosis. "Please don't tell me tell me that I'm going to die sometime in the next year. I would like to live out the remainder of my life not knowing when I'm going to pass on, if you don't mind.

_Can you imagine what it feels like to have someone sit you down and tell you that you're dying? The gravity of that, hmm? Then the clock's ticking for you. In a split second your awe is cracked open. You look at things differently - smell things differently. You savor everything be it a glass of water or a walk in the park._

"Ease up there, _jefe_," Flagg grinned. "The card of death doesn't mean a physical death at all, so you've got nothing to fear in that department. What it does refer to is is the very opposite of rotting sacks of worm meat: renewal, regeneration, and resurrection."

"How can the card of death refer to things contrary to it?" Teru asked.

_But most people have the luxury of not knowing when that clock's going to go off. And the irony of it is that that keeps them from really living their life. It keeps them drinking that glass of water but never really tasting it. _

Flagg tapped the card. "There's a story to learn from here, _patron,"_ he grinned. "See the king, the woman, and the brat. They're going to die. Doesn't matter when. Doesn't matter where. Doesn't matter how. They just will. The rich, the poor, the good, the bad, the strong, and the weak will all inevitably kick the bucket." Flagg's grin remained the same length, but a touch of sardonic glee was added to it. "But of course, Father Merrin here isn't afraid of meeting his untimely end. Why? Because he's a spiritual man. Because (and here Flagg wiggled his fingers in the air mockingly) he knows that when he dies, he'll just transform into something else. Could be an angel. Could be a demon. Hell, he may even be reborn as Robespierre during the French Reign of Terror. Point is, his story won't end. It'll just revive itself."

_Nothing is permanent, not even death. _

"The astrological sign, Scorpio, represented by the phoenix, only reinforces the most comforting of inevitabilities," Flagg continued. "As you probably already know, legend has it that the phoenix burns itself to death when it's old enough, to ride the lightning if you will, but then resurrect itself immediately afterwards from the ashes."

"But there's a more practical application here, I assume," Teru said.

"As sure as bees don't have knees, there is", Flagg grinned. "This is the very last card, so the card will take effect at the end of the second year. That is, if you do manage to overcome your evil twin brother, clone, cylon duplicate, or whatever the hell it is that you're destined to fight. And if you do happen to best this prick," Flagg said, his eyes dancing with berserk merriment, "then something incredible could very well happen to you, my cully. What it is, I've got no clue. But it'll be like a wretched little caterpillar becoming a butterfly, mark my words and mark them well or you'll be get your ass dropped on the highway to Hell."

Flagg suddenly rolled onto his back and then flipped forward onto his feet, seemingly without effort. Teru wasn't surprised; when it came to Flagg, there came a point where you eventually accepted the fact that the man (for lack of a better term) was always in the process of revealing new tricks and secrets.

"Time we were on our way, _hermano,_" he grinned. "The reading is now officially over, and idle hands are the ones that give the devil handjobs, as they say."

"Yeah, I recall you saying that after my reading, we were going to have to go visit a cave," Teru said. "But why are we going there? Are we going to meet someone or something?"

"Well, we're not off to see the wizard," Flagg said stretching in a way that reminded Teru of a very limber (if not heinous) cat. "But we are off to see someone in that same vein. Only, once you pull back the curtains, you may very well claw your eyes out right afterward."

Teru's stomach dropped. There were only two people who could have caused him to resort to such grisly actions, and Flagg was enough of an unscrupulous opportunist to feed Teru to the wolves if it suited his agenda.

"Kira?" Teru asked, his voice wavering.

"Nope, nope, and nope," Flagg grinned in spite of Teru's growing horror. "It's someone much, much worse than that."

"Randall..." Teru started, his voice suddenly much thicker and tense than it was moments ago, "For the love of God... I mean, you can't... you just can't-"

"Sorry there, Mister Tambourine Man," Flagg grinned. "But hey, you can't tell me that you didn't know that you were going to have to meet him at some point. Besides, the order's already been given. Not like I can renege on my promise now unless I want sulfuric acid poured into all of my orifices."

"Whatever you want, Randall," Teru croaked. "I will give you anything you want so long as-"

"Teru, I may not be Einstein, but I'm not Forrest Gump either, and the last thing I'm going to do is cross … that... 'thing'" Flagg said, beginning to frown at his inability to describe this much-feared individual. The frown shortly turned itself back into that same deranged cartoon grin, yet Teru's growing terror was not directed towards this. "But hey, look at it this way. If you're too pussy-footed to even see this guy, how the hell can you ever expect to even look into Kira's eyes without trembling like some little bitch?"

Teru knew that Flagg was right. Teru knew that facing his own personal nightmare was something that would probably empower him (if not eviscerate him). Teru knew that surviving this encounter would probably give him the strength that he needed in order to seek out Kira and then... do whatever came afterwards (Hopefully they could... talk it out. Or something. Teru hadn't thought that far ahead.).

Oh God, but this was different. This was an exception. This was the exception. This was death, evil, sadism, and nightmare incarnate all rolled into one horrifying amalgam, waiting for Teru to step into his private quarters before he subjected him to an infinite horror that no language could ever clearly express.

It had been a set-up this entire time. Teru had been meant to play Orpheus from the very beginning. And here, dressed aptly for this darkly comedic tragedy, was Randall Flagg, ready to add yet another name to his ever-growing list of aliases, this time as Charon, the ferryman to Hell.

"Well, then," Flagg grinned with a twinkle in his eye, "time to pay the Dark Man a visit."

_I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip. _

_

* * *

_

And now, as a treat to everyone who has patiently waded through this deluge of bombastic prose, it is my pleasure to give to you something that can take your minds off the sordid facts that our planet is dying, that mainstream music is largely bollocks, and that Guillermo Del Toro is no longer working on _The Hobbit_. Go ahead and weep at that last one. I can wait.

OK, that's enough time. I'm sure you all cried, not just me. I'm sure of it.

(A beat)

OK, so then (sniff) without further ado, I bring you...

OMAKE!

**I'm sorry, Mr. McGruder**

(Panel shows both Ryuk of _Death Note_ and Huey Freeman of _The Boondocks_ in a middle default camera view)

Ryuk: Yeah, so that's the Death Note. With it you can kill pretty much anyone you want.

(Next panel is a close-up on Ryuk, but we can see a little of Huey writing in the Death Note.)

Ryuk: Thing is though, you gotta know the suckers' first and last name in order to-

(Next panel shows Huey handing the Death Note to Ryuk)

Huey: I'm done. Do you have another one?

**With Apologies To Aaron McGruder**

(First panel shows Huey working on his Death Note, seated in a leather office chair towards a desk. Michael Caesar is right behind the chair.)

Caesar: Are you still working on that Death Note?

Huey: Yep. How do you spell "Van Pelt"?

(This panel is just a beat)

Caesar: You're going to kill off Lucy from "Peanuts"?

Huey: The football thing... it bugs me.

**Even More Apologies To Aaron McGruder**

(This panel is the same as the first one of the previous comic: Huey is still in his chair at the desk, he's still writing in the Death Note, and Caesar is still behind the chair)

Caesar: Is Osama Bin Laden going to make the Death Note?

Huey: I don't know. It's just... he's so easy to hate, you know? So easy to kill. I want to challenge myself. I want my killing to have more effort than that.

Caesar: Kill outside the box?

Huey: Exactly!

**Seriously, I Can't Apologize Enough**

Huey: You know, I'm starting to run out of pages here. I don't think I'm going to be able to kill everyone that I want to.

Caesar: Huey, maybe it would be more healthy to write about people you would like to see live.

Huey: I did. It fits on this post-it note.

(Huey hands Caesar the post-it note; Caesar doesn't look surprised at what he sees.)

Caesar: Wow, with room to spare.

Huey: So should I write down the entire Hilton family or just the father?

* * *

WORKS CITED:

Antichrist (Movie)

The Last Temptation of Christ (Novel/Movie)

From Hell (Graphic novel)

Time Bandits (Movie)

Hour of the Wolf (Movie)

Dead Man (Movie)

The Stand (Novel/Graphic novel)

Angel Heart (Novel/Movie)

The Exorcist (Novel/Movie)

The Sandman (Graphic novel)

Batman: Heart of Hush (Graphic novel)

The Mist (Novella/Movie)

Scalped (Graphic novel)

Devil May Cry 4 (Video game)

The Dark Knight (Movie)

Antibodies (Movie)

Helter Skelter (Movie)

Othello (Play)

The Watchmen (Graphic novel/Movie)

Julius Caesar (Play)

Richard III (Play)

Spawn (Comic book/animated series)

Heroes (TV show)

Once Upon A Time In Mexico (Movie)

Metal Gear Solid (Video game)

Y: The Last Man (Graphic novel)

Downfall (Movie)

There Will Be Blood (Movie)

The Matrix (Movie)

Saw II (Movie)

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (Movie)

American Psycho (Novel/Movie)


	10. Chapter VI: And The Devil Cried

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

**CHAPTER VI:**

**AND THE DEVIL CRIED**

R.I.P. RONNIE JAMES DIO

1942-2010

Searching for the answer  
Christ hasn't come  
Awaiting the final moment  
The birth of Satan's son!

-Slayer

O blessed glorious Trinity,  
Bones to philosophy, but milk to faith,  
Which, as wise serpents, diversely  
Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath,  
As you distinguish'd, undistinct,  
By power, love, knowledge be,  
Give me a such self different instinct,  
Of these let all me elemented be,  
Of power, to love, to know you unnumbered three.

-John Donne

Hope our little world will last.

-The Doors

* * *

_By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes._

"Toodles," Teru quickly said before hastily running off.

Flagg rolled his eyes and sighed, not really all that surprised with Teru's preference for flight rather than fight. The little bastard may have been the "one", but he was also going to need quite a bit of work.

However, Flagg soon fell back onto his snake grin. If Teru thought that he could weasel his way out of his fate after all of the work that Flagg and his kin had put in, then he had another thing coming (No Judas Priest pun intended, Flagg thought with some humor).

Flagg began to whistle "Magical Mystery Tour" while calmly searching inside his coat once more. After only a few moments of digging, he had found what he was looking for: a black bola.

Still whistling, Flagg calmly and professionally aimed the bola at Teru and released it.

Teru was only about thirty five feet away, just beginning to think that he might have a chance at evading his dreaded appointment with The Dark Man when he felt something strong and leathery slip around his feet. Seconds later, Teru found himself in the curious position of lying face first in the sand.

What had captured him, Teru did not know. Still, despite being a bit uncomfortably tight, it wasn't hurting him all that much; apparently, Flagg had not set a crow, wolf, panther, or any other savage familiar after him to dine upon his anatomy. With this comforting knowledge in tow, Teru began to use his arms to crawl forward.

I feel like I'm in Apocalypse Now, Teru thought with dry humor while the rest of his mind screamed at him to move as far and as fast as he could.

Teru managed to only make it a few more feet before he heard Flagg's unmistakable whistling distant at first, but increasingly louder as it came closer. At the first hearing of the whistling, Teru forced himself to move even faster despite the fact that he was now running so short of breath and that his ribs felt like they had been repeatedly kicked in by a pair of steel toed boots. However, despite Teru's best efforts to flee with the greatest speed that he could muster, he could still hear Flagg drawing closer and closer, his merry whistling a death knell in Teru's ears, like a hive of angry bees being pressed nearer and nearer to its selected victim.

Eventually, Teru felt Flagg's cowboy boot stomp into his back and Teru cried out in sharp pain; it felt like the Looney Tunes reject had dropped a thick boulder onto his spine. Taking advantage of Teru's temporary paralysis, Flagg quickly but expertly grabbed both of Teru's hands and held them behind his back. The next thing Teru knew, he felt something cold and rough snap around both of his wrists with a metallic _clink._

Handcuffs? Teru thought, both terrified at his now certain fate and insulted that he was being treated like some devious malcontent.

"Sorry there, _vaquero_," Flagg said, walking in front of Teru, kneeling down, and leering at his captive with an obscene grin. "But like I said, you've got yourself a destiny to fulfill, and I've got myself an errand to complete. That, and I don't want The Dark Man to spread honey all over my naked body and then let the red fire ants have their way with me. You see, kiddo, it-"

Flagg was interrupted by a noise as welcome as nails screeching across a blackboard. Teru craned his neck as far up as he could and saw a vulture approach them in mid-flight, eventually landing on Flagg's shoulder. The repellent, feathered raptor _cawed_ and Flagg nodded his head in understanding, as if he and the carrion could speak the same language. Eventually, Flagg pulled out a handful of dead mice out of his coat pocket and fed them to the vulture with his bare hand like a master feeding his beloved pet. Teru wanted to scream.

Mercifully, the vulture gobbled up his meal quickly and then made as if to fly off from Flagg's shoulders. However, the vulture first glanced at Teru with its beady, conniving little eyes, gave one more insufferably horrendous screech, and then few off.

Teru rolled over onto his back, and stared at Flagg with wild and desperate eyes. "Randall, please!" Teru cried. "You don't know The Dark Man, not like I do! You don't know what he's like! I've seen him destroy entire cities with just a single glance! He's the living embodiment of all that's inhumane and evil! He'll flay me the first chance he gets!"

"Maybe that's true, kid, but... oh hell, you're probably right," Flagg conceded, still kneeling and grinning at Teru. "But what The Dark Man wants, The Dark Man gets. Besides, we're already too close to back out now, and our ride is on its way," Flagg pronounced, lifting Teru by the center of the handcuffs; Teru winced and hissed in pain as the steel cut against his skin. "Shouldn't take too long given the speed of the thing and- oh, hey there, _petimetre, _don't look so glum! Sure, you're about to risk both your life and your sanity on this little errand of yours, but hey at least we'll get to listen to some damn good music on the ship."

"The ship?" Teru exclaimed. "What ship? This is a goddamn desert, Randall! How could a water vessel ever make its way out-"

Teru's words fell flat as she spotted something off in the distance, something flying in the sky. And the closer that this stupefying object came, the wider Teru's mouth gaped and the wider his eyes became wider until he was finally unable to stretch them any further.

What Teru saw that shocked him so greatly was indeed a ship, but it was no ordinary ship by any stretch of the imagination. Its model was that of centuries past, mammoth and intricate, majestic and adventurous. In the real world, it would have been used as a charming museum, enabling visitors to marvel at how efficient other cruise ships were by comparison.

Of course, Teru thought, it's not as if this kind of ship could be used for a tourist attraction. It's not just that the ship itself is flying; it's all made off bloody crystal to boot.

Teru was very much correct in his observation as the ship, powered by propellers situated towards the bottom end of the vessel, hovered over him and Flagg about twenty feet in the air. With the exception of the flag (showing of all things, an embroidery of a lizard standing upright with a crown on its head), the entire thing was improbably, impossibly, and unthinkably made of crystal.

Speakers attached to the ship announced its exceptional presence, an incongruent feature perhaps, but one necessary to channel the voice of the late Jim Morrison from beyond the grave: "The Crystal Ship is being filled, a thousand girls, a thousand thrills..."

"I am the Lizard King!" Flagg shouted triumphantly, with his arms stretched out as if to hug the incoming crystalline vehicle. "I can do anything!"

"This is insane, Randall!" Teru yelled, squinting his eyes as the lowering ship's propellers swept sand every which way. "This is isn't even a part of modernism! This is an American song from the sixties!"

"I know!" Flagg replied, not looking at Teru, but grinning proudly at the Crystal Ship as a rope ladder was tossed down by invisible hands. "But _The Doors_ are timeless, _hijo_! You've gotta give me that much!"

"I HATE YOU, RANDALL!" Teru screamed.

"Join the club!" Flagg retorted. And before Teru could even respond, Flagg grabbed Teru, lifted him over his shoulders like a sack of fertilizer, and began to climb the ladder. Teru would have struggled even if it meant a perilous fall to the sand below if not for the creeping suspicion that Flagg would have beaten him to death with a sledgehammer for his efforts.

"Take me, Spanish caravan, yes, I know you can," the ghost voice of Morrison blared out from the speakers, as if trying to console Teru.

At the top of the ladder, Flagg nonchalantly dropped Teru onto the ship's deck (allowing Teru to learn firsthand the age old wisdom that landing on ship made of crystal handcuffed hands first really, really hurt). A snap of Flagg's fingers later, and the rope ladder rolled up on its own towards the deck. Flagg turned towards Teru, now looking very much like a pirate who had escaped from an insane asylum.

"Onwards, me buckaneer!" Flagg shouted jubilantly. "We'll rape their horses and ride their women in the words of the immortal and soon to be very dead Chevy Chase!"

"You're out of your mind!" Teru screamed.

"I know!" Flagg shouted gleefully at the sky. "AND I FUCKIN' LOVE IT!"

It was here that Flagg unleashed a laugh so obscene that Teru thanked Kira for the even louder volume of the speakers, now bellowing: "Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin, we could plan a murder or start a religion."

The Crystal Ship flew away, Flagg continued to cackle, and Teru continued to scream that before the night was through he was going to feed Flagg's head to the bottom of a working lawn mower.

The speakers, on the other hand, displayed neither malevolent joy nor infuriated outrage as it changed its tune and headed even higher into the sky:

"You know the day destroys the night, night divides the day..."

* * *

Teru was still not ecstatic about the idea of meeting the one monstrosity that he feared most in the world, that he feared even more than Kira Almighty, but his previous all-consuming hysteria had gradually thawed into a smaller yet significantly sized pebble in his shoe the more the ship sailed onwards. At this high altitude, Teru was able to see plenty of activity in the Wasteland, mostly packs of individuals that kept their distance from one another. Once Flagg untied the bola from Teru's legs and unlocked the handcuffs from his wrists ("You even think about leaping off this ship, and I pummel your legs with the anchor before dragging your worthless hide to the cave," Flagg had whispered merrily while releasing Teru), Teru was free to wander the perimeters of the Crystal Ship while the speakers played "Riders on the Storm".

Teru noticed a telescope made out of (What else?) crystal, attached to the railing, designated it as ignorable for a few seconds, and then did a slight double take when he realized what the crystal telescope entailed. Mentally chiding himself permitting such cerebral density, Teru approached the telescope, gave it a once-look-over, looked through it, and began to marvel at what he saw.

The Wasteland was indeed a hotbed of bizarre, inexplicable activity. The first thing that Teru saw was the bottom half of a once tall and proud stone statue, the top half left victim to the ravages of time. Right by the bottom half of the statue was the top half, and Teru noted with a sagging heart (but no surprise, except that his lack of surprise did surprise him a little) that the entire statue was that of Kira. Whoever has sculptured the statue knew his stuff: the face was calm, handsome, and dignified, but not even Kira could prevent himself from curling his nose just a little bit, and the sculpture had apparently caught Kira in every single positive and negative detail. Beneath the legs, on the plaque of the foundation was an inscription; however, most of it had been faded and rusted over. However, Teru was able to make out a few words: " My name is Kira, king of kings: look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

_Adrian, millions will die!_

_Yes, so that billions may live!_

Just like that Shelly poem, Teru thought with a heavy heart, Without Kira, the world will become just like the Wasteland: irrational, capricious, and perplexing. It will be chaos.

Teru sighed. Thank Kira that this is only a dream, he thought before moving the telescope once more.

Not very far away from the dispiriting likeness of Kira, Teru saw what appeared to be a strong young man adorned in ancient Greco-Roman warrior attire parlaying with yet another sphinx. The sphinx was at least twice the height and weight of the man, yet the man showed not the slightest bit of intimidation while speaking with the beast. After a few moments, the sphinx lowered its head; the man equipped a sleek hoplite sword (an ancient Greek weapon, Teru noted) and then tried to slice its head off. Despite the great strength of the man, it took several more swings before he could completely sever the head from the neck. The bloodshed was not what troubled Teru though, for as Teru watched the steel digging into the flesh and the blood bursting forth in thick gallons, he was more than sure that he could see the sphinx chuckle until the very moment that its head was totally detached. And even after its most unsightly death, the head of the sphinx continued to smirk.

Wait, I know this one, Teru thought. A man. A sphinx. A conversation, no, a riddle... a death... Oedipus?

Teru shook his head of such thoughts. After all, this was the Wasteland, where everything and anything came together in one implausible orgy of farcical lunacy. Flagg aside, it wasn't as if any of these psychotic visions had anything to do with Teru. What could he possibly learn from seeing a broken statue of his lord and master and from watching a mythical warrior hack off the head of a monster like a hunter unleashing all of his ferocity onto some game?

Teru moved the telescope upwards and noticed a very long river whose end reached even further than Teru could see. In any event, the water of the river was clouded and gray; Teru would have gaped at the sight of countless corpses wading through the water, as if they were all trying to reach some mutual destination, had he not been in so irrational a world as the Wasteland. Instead, his skin merely developed some goose bumps, and for once he could not help but be grateful that the speakers were drowning out what very well could have been the wails and moans of the condemned below.

Floating on the river was an old steam-ship. The ship was an old, grimy tugboat, it's hull an apparent survivor of many a disaster judging from the scars of rusted metal and torn steel. Standing inside the wheelhouse and controlling the wheel was a gaunt old man with only dirty shreds of cloth to cover his genitals and some of his chest. The old man's gray hair was long but thinning terribly, and he looked as if he had not enjoyed the luxury of bathing in quite some time. For whatever reason, the old man seemed to be very irritated as he grasped tightly onto the wheel with white knuckled hands, clenching his teeth as he did so.

Turning his attention to the main deck, Teru was able to see why this ferryman was making an effort to suppress his anger. Lying on the deck behind the wheelhouse was another man. This man was almost as impossibly pale and thin as the ferryman, and as there was a thin sheet thrown over him and a wet towel placed over his forehead, Teru guessed that he was stricken with some sort of illness. However, this man did not appear to be suffering from the various forms of feebleness often attributed to sickness, for he railed and ranted against the ferryman with the frenetic vocal energy of a dozen men injected with adrenaline. Teru tried to read the lips of this vociferous person (a secret skill he had learned especially to improve his courtroom performances; his peers were dumbfounded as to how Teru could know so much of what they had said to their clients , as if Teru had been following them and observing their discussions in public places), but he had a surprisingly difficult time at doing so. For one thing, the man was twisting, turning, and raving so wildly that Teru could hardly catch sight of his lips. He was only able to pick up a few words here and there, "limeys", "savages", and "civilize" being among them. For another thing, the speakers were blaring "The End", and Teru had more than a little trouble trying to interpret the sick man's diatribe while the specter of Morrison howled on about insane children waiting for the summer rain. Luckily, the song ended just as the sick man, finally weary and spent, uttered one last clear message:

"The horror... the horror..."

Then the sick man closed his eyes, lied still, and did not move.

_Mistah Kurtz... he dead. _

I'm beginning to regret having ever taking that English literature class back in high school, Teru thought humorlessly.

On the bottom side of the malodorous river was a row of variously constructed scarecrows. None of them moved nor spoke. But then, a prickly pear fell from the sky and landed in front of one of the middle scarecrows, somehow with no visible damage. This scarecrow, a mild-mannered looking creation, leaped off his pole, picked up the pear, studied it momentarily, and then forced it through a loose stitching into his head as if he was trying to use it as a brain. At this, all of the other hollow men were upon this tragically inquisitive individual, and they mercifully beat him with their poles until he was no more than a dismembered pile of fabric, straw, and crushed pear remnants.

"'We are the hollow men,'" Teru muttered to himself, "We are the stuffed men, leaning together, headpiece filled with straw.' Can't help but think that this isn't quite what Eliot meant by that though."

Above the river bank, another curious incident was occurring. A (probably) dead and exceedingly thin horse lying on its side, a medieval aide with a palpable degree of dignity, an outspoken and energetic jester, a poorly dressed and groomed lunatic, a bulky king who looked as if he was in the process of losing his mind, and a young man in the armor of a fledgling childe were all involved in this large, unstable occurrence. The aide and the childe were in some sort of argument: apparently, the childe had come across the horse ( "I never saw a brute I hated so!" the childe proclaimed) limping in the opposite direction and then slayed the animal with his sword. According to the childe, the horse grossly offended both his olfactory and ocular ranges, and that was cause enough to take its life. The aide argued back that such logic was ridiculous, that even the strong could succumb to weakness, and that the weak deserved just as much mercy as anyone else. Besides, the aide had added, the childe had slashed the horse before their king, an act that reeked of impudence and impropriety.

At this, the childe turned his head in order to look at the entire company. The king, a leader who could have been strong and commanding once but was now flaccid and pitiful, held onto the neck of the dead horse sobbing loudly, as if he was cradling the corpse of his daughter. Then the king would abruptly look up at the sky and shout at the wind to blow. The wind having boldly defied its liege's orders, the king responded by resuming his weeping. Meanwhile, the jester, in his attempt to make the dour inevitabilities of life and death more comedic and less excruciating, pulled out some Punch and Judy dolls and went about recreating the renowned tragical comedy, though with only three dolls and no stage.

Incredibly enough, the sights of a renegade psychopath tossing his wailing infant out a window and then beating his hysterical wife to death with a stick did not comfort the king, for he began to weep for the horse and bellow at the sky once more. At this same time, the lunatic cavorted carelessly across the scene, singing gibberish in a merrily insane tone. Despite the lunatic's rambunctious behavior, Teru was able to read his lips, and what he heard caused an explosion of sensation in his cerebrum:

"Child Rowland to the dark tower came, his word was still 'Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man!"

_How ____sharper than a serpent's tooth__ it is to have a thankless child!_

"King Lear?" Teru whispered to the wind. The wind did not answer, and the ship continued forth. (6)

All this and more Teru saw and marveled at. He had seen a group of young boys, naked but adorned with tribal markings and carrying a bloody stake crowned with a severed pig's head, attack Sigmund Freud and Jacques Lacan with makeshift spears. He had seen a large sign held up by a massive frame which read: ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE. At least a dozen bodies were hanging from the rafters of the frame via nooses; crows, ravens, and other birds of prey magnanimously facilitated the tissue decomposition phase of the deaths. Teru even seen a young, pretty woman with trendy gothic clothes, blond hair, blue eyes, and a childish smile carry a baby in her arms, all wrapped up in a bundle: him. Teru had no idea who the woman was, he had never met her before in his life, but the sight of his infant duplicate being carried in such a caring manner caused him to choke up just a bit (enough for him to clench his fists so as to keep calm; not enough to get Flagg's attention). Becoming uncomfortable, Teru decided to classify the scene as some released tension related to his childhood, but the thought that there was something more beyond his dismissal lingered after him.

That, and Flagg's snickering made Teru feel uncomfortable about whole thing. (7)

_Mom? Do you think I'm a bad person?_

_Honey, how can I answer that when I don't even know you? _

* * *

Flagg at behind the stairwell of the ship, close enough to observe Teru, but not too close that the little overeducated psychopath could notice that he was watching him. Flagg played some solo solitaire, keeping his eyes on the cards before slyly moving them to Teru and vice-versa. Oh yes, Teru was responding to the Wasteland exactly as Flagg had planned and hoped he would: back in the "normal" and "sensible" Waking, Teru would have been more or less comfortable even if he was the black sheep of his community. However, taken out of his natural environment and put inside a world that made even less sense than that one Jap "Evangelion" movie that Flagg had seen once (Oh, but to see that whiny kid choke that little redheaded bitch... ah, good times, good times...), Teru was flipping, flopping, and gaping like a fish out of water. And these were merely the movie previews as it were to the feature presentation, to the sight that would truly shake the little snot up. Oh, if Teru had any idea of what was to come, then he-

WE HAVE NOT HEARD FROM YOU IN SOME TIME, RANDALL FLAGG OF GILEAD.

Flagg gritted his teeth, and cold sweat began to appear on his face. The multi-vocal voice of his employers rang through his head like a hammer cracking against a bell rapidly, but at this point he had no choice but to endure it. Flagg had stabbed his fair share of backs in the past, but even thinking of doing such a thing to... to "them" would probably land him in more hot water than even he could abide. For being such "advanced" entities, they were an impatient lot, but this too Flagg had to endure.

Correction, Flagg, my man, he thought. You really have no choice in the manner. They may be locked out there in the space beyond space or whatever, but their power still extends to the earthly plains. You're just lucky that they were generous enough to offer you something out of this intergalactic bullshit. Besides, it'll all be worth it once they deliver their end of the bargain.

"You ever bother to think that maybe that's because I've been working my ass off trying to get this kid to believe the crazy shit I've been telling him?" Flagg partly growled, but mostly stated nonchalantly (a full growl would be pushing it, and Flagg had no desire to experience the curious sensation of having his sanity raped). "Teru may be wet behind the ears, but he's no Forrest Gump. He's not ready yet, and if you really want to see those two go at it, then you're going to need to let me do things my way."

WE HAVE ALLOWED YOU ENOUGH TIME, FLAGG. YOUR RESULTS ARE LESS THAN PREFERABLE. PERHAPS SOME INCENTIVE WOULD-

"I only need a little more time!" Flagg exclaimed louder than he would have liked. He took a quick peak at Teru to make sure that the boy wasn't looking over in curiosity; thankfully, he was still staring out that telescope like some kid at the zoo fascinated with the monkeys jerking off and throwing their own shit at each other. In a quieter voice, Flagg continued: "Listen to me! Teru is unlike anything this planet has seen in a long time! The very fact that he lives in a time with an unprecedented number of adepts is a godsend! My work is almost complete! He just needs a few more touches, and Kira will be yours! But I need more time!"

Sweat was now plastered to Flagg's clothes; for the first time since he had entered this lunatic realm, he was actually beginning to feel uncomfortably hot. As he took a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and wiped the sweat off of his face, he found himself almost praying to God that he hadn't offended his arrogant, volatile proprietors. A lengthy silence followed, and Flagg was beginning to think that maybe he would spontaneously combust right then and there when their collective voice returned, harsher and more alien than reality should have allowed:

AND YOU ARE SURE THAT KIRA WILL BE ABLE TO SUMMON US ONCE MORE? YOU STILL GUARANTEE THAT HE WILL BE ABLE TO ELIMINATE THE SHOGGOTH? THAT HE WILL AWAKEN ZTHOOD'ALU, HE WHO STILL SLEEPS UNDER THE SEAS?

"Yes, oh Christ, yes," Flagg said, clenching his eyes, trying to deal with the excruciating voices as best as he could without bashing his head against the ship's flooring. "I promise you, I swear to you, he will fulfill the prophecy! Once he conquers The Dark Man, everything will go as according to plan. If you can just wait a little longer, then it will become all yours again, all yours! I-"

THAT IS ENOUGH, WARLOCK. WE HAVE HEARD YOUR PLEAS AND ARE WILLING TO GIVE YOU MORE TIME TO COMPLETE YOUR MISSION. BUT DO NOT THINK TO TRIFLE WITH US, MORTAL. DO NOT FORGET WHO IT WAS THAT BROUGHT YOU BACK FROM OBLIVION AND WHO CAN SEND YOU THERE AGAIN.

"Heh, you really think I'm so stupid that I would try to screw you all over?" Flagg managed to smirk (though with considerable effort). "I may not be Kepler, but I'm not such a dumb asshole that I actually think I can pull the wool over every single eye you lot have. Trust me, he's nearly done here. The time for the summoning will be here in no time at all."

Flagg waited a few more moments for the dreaded voice to sound out once more; mercifully, the gnashing, waspish, and utterly alien utterances of his masters did not reappear. At this, he sighed in relief. That Flagg was able to withstand the grating, eldritch tone of his overlords was a miracle in itself; that he could actually make sense of that unimaginably advanced language was something that Flagg could sometimes have trouble believing, if not for the fact that he had the displeasure of speaking with them on more then one occasion. Still, he hadn't gone stark raving mad upon hearing one syllable of theirs, and that was a lot more that could be said for others.

However, he and Teru weren't out of the woods yet. If Flagg didn't get this wrapped up all nice and tidy soon, then it would only be a matter of time before the both of them would be subjected to a fate literally impossible to describe, a nightmare so goddamn terrible that no human language or equation could even begin to imagine. And if-

"Randall?" Teru called over from his telescope, casually enough, not knowing that he had jolted Flagg abruptedly out of his terrified train of thought. "Are you OK? I haven't heard from you in a while and I-"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, goddammit!" Flagg snapped. "I'm just... I'm just resting! You just go back to jerking off at that little peep-show of yours, Norman Bates, and I'll call for you when the time is ready! Now piss off!"

Teru didn't respond to this rather rude reply, and Flagg with trembling fingers, pulled out a joint and lit it. Christ, he was losing it when he needed it the most, and he simply couldn't afford to lose anything at this point, no siree Bob.

Keep it together, old man, Flagg chided himself. You've lasted this long. You can last even longer. Soon, you'll have more power than you've ever even dreamed of. Patience is all you need, old boy; patience is all you need.

But what if the little shit tries to squirm his way out at the last minute? Flagg asked himself.

Flagg was well aware that at this juncture, he would have normally joked in the most sadistic way he could have. A regular harlequin of Hell is what he was, and he took pride in such a distinction. But the time for cuteness was over, the curtain had closed on Mr. Rogers and his retarded, inbred Neighborhood of Make-Believe, and the time for action was now, now, and fucking now.

If he tries to weasel his way out of his little appointment? Flagg thought humorlessly. Then I stomp on his neck before I drag him to The Dark Man myself. He's nothing right now. He's dirt. No, he's below dirt. He's just an ant that I can crush underneath my boots anytime I wish. I have nothing to fear from him until after the metamorphosis. Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear at all.

Flagg continued to perspire profusely. The ship continued to sail.

_One cried, "God bless us!" and "Amen" the other, As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. List'ning their fear I could not say "Amen," When they did say "God bless us!" ____But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen"? I had most need of blessing, and "Amen" stuck in my throat. _

___

* * *

_

In the Wasteland, Teru had seen things that he thought he never would have believed had existed before. And while witnessing such inexplicable, such incredible sights, Teru did not see how he would be able to see anything that would be able to supersede it all.

However, as astonishing as these sights were, as firmly ingrained as they would become in his mind even after the dream had ended, there was one spectacle that trumped all others. It was a picture that could not have been done justice without a lengthy examination of what it all bloody meant, but it was striking nonetheless and it struck Teru particularly hard. At first, Teru saw only three individual humanoid shadows off in the distance. Accordingly, the closer the Crystal Ship got to the three shapes, the bigger they became. Eventually, the ship hovered in just the right spot to take in as much of the sight of all the figures as the telescope could.

These sights were simple enough on paper.

But what Teru and Flagg both saw and then nervously registered was something else entirely.

Below two massive pair of blue legs and an equally colossal pair of tanned brown legs, there was a man on the sand, kneeling on both knees and on both hands. The man was trembling; Teru assumed that the man was fiercely sobbing. From where he was, Teru could only see the back of the crouched man, but could easily see that he was wearing the professional garb of a scientist: a white safety coat and formal trousers.

However, Teru could still see the three objects that the scientist was weeping in front of, and he zoomed in on them to take a closer look. When he saw what he saw, Teru drew in a sharp intake of breath and did not release it until he quietly reminded himself that he needed to breathe. The three objects that he had layed eyes on were not just of the utmost historical significance, but also something that sent tremors of dread shuddering down his spine. They were something that had irrevocably ended Japan's imperial age. They were the forefathers of the potential destruction of the planet. They were perhaps the greatest mistake known to man, created by man, yet relished by those who fed on power and exuded greed.

There were three atomic bombs lying on the ground. They looked old and rusty, as if they had not been used in ages. Still, the blood that was smeared across their surfaces was fresh and had to be recent.

It was what the blood said on the bombs that caused Teru to lose his breath:

Thin Man. Little Boy. Fat Man.

They were the three atomic bombs that had not just opened Pandora's box, but had also jammed a stick in between the hinges to insure that the box wouldn't close again.

_The truth is... my grandfather was part of the Manhattan Project. He suffered with the guilt for the rest of his life. And my father... he was born on August 6, 1945..._

_The day of the Hiroshima bomb. God's got a sense of humor all right._

"Impossible," Teru whispered.

Though still far from achieving emotional equilibrium, Teru wasted no time in taking a better look at the kneeling scientist as soon as the Crystal Ship had circled around. The scientist was probably in his forties and fifties, and though his facial features were somewhat reptilian, his appearance was average, neither attractive nor repellent. His hair was graying, his strong nose was somewhat crooked, and he was Caucasian; he looked like no one and everyone, someone who could easily blend into a crowd and not arouse suspicion. However, it was not, as Teru was to shortly discover, what the man looked like that earned his scrutiny; rather, it was what he said that brutally took possession of Teru. True, the man was miles below the Crystal Ship, but Teru's telescope and lip-reading talent allowed him to decipher the man's miserable words. However, as valuable as this skill was for his occupation, here it brought nothing much more than further revelations of angst, and Teru almost immediately regretted reading the trembling lips of the scientist below.

"'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds'?" Teru whispered. "Oppenheimer?"

_As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, they kill us for their sport._

Having seen possibly the most skilled and talented engineer of the Manhattan Project of World War II, a schemata that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands and helped usher in the paranoia-fueled Cold War, Teru began to feel weak in his knees. Still, he held his ground. A potent sense of ill foreboding had struck Teru: intuition told him that whatever stood above the bombs and Oppenheimer would be the final piece of this sickening puzzle. Knowing, not believing, that it was his duty to see this out to its very end, come what may, come what might, Teru quickly raised the telescope upwards. As he did so, he tried to convince himself that the worst was over, that the last act could not be as anguishing as what he had just seen. True, he felt so tired and so weak now, but he managed to convince himself, even if only for only a fraction of a second, that nothing else would be able to shake away what little confidence and ambition he had left.

With no great surprise, Teru saw that he had failed in this endeavor completely and utterly.

For far above the mortals and the Crystal Ship, there stood three enormous, towering, contemplating gods. Teru knew these giants; he had studied them and the religion used to worship them while in school. He had considered this useful, as there were many of these kinds of worshipers living in his own country, men and women from India, Pakistan, and other Eastern nations. Teru had even considered the existence of these beings to be more likely than not before Kira arrived and earned his total devotion. But whatever Teru may or may not have believed in, they stood there all the same, tall, proud, and awe-inspiring.

There stood Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma.

There stood the Hindu trinity.

There stood the Trimurti.

Shiva, the great creator and terrible destroyer, stood to the left with his four arms crossed, his androgynous face twisted into a skeptical scowl. He did not look pleased, but he did not look irate either though the snakes in his long, matted hair, necklaces, pelt, and bracelets writhes and hissed angrily, as if they could compute the grave danger below them. Teru thought he saw something in Shiva's eye and zoomed in on it; what Teru saw was not shock in Shiva's eyes, but casual interest. Despite being deprived of one half of his occupation, Shiva watched the scene below with a gaze that strongly suggested his desire to see just how much destruction humans and their creations could incur. Perhaps they would all kill one another. Perhaps they would destroy the Earth itself. Whatever the outcome, it was sure to be entertaining, more proof for the gods that the creatures who lived beneath the clouds were inherently petty and fallacious.

To the left stood Brahma, the god of creation, each of his four bearded heads looking heartbroken. Conspicuously absent was Brahma's vehicle, his nameless but divine swan; however, just about all of Brahma's other trademark attributes were present. The rosary around his neck, and all four of his heads' crowns were attendant. Brahma also wore his customary yellow gown and pink silk scarf thrown over his neck. In two of his four hands, he held his legendary book of _vedas_ and his equally legendary lotus flower. But for all the glory that Brahma's physical appearance commanded, he held the pitiful expression of a child who, having worked so hard on building a sand castle, was only moments away from sobbing after watching a contrastingly destruction-inclined child stomp it flat.

Stranding in the center was Vishnu, the sustainer of the universe, he whose dreams are the world, adorned in clothes very similar to Brahma's. However, not only could Teru tell that Vishnu was not dreaming nor sleeping as per usual, he could also discern that several things were "off" with respect to the supreme Hindu deity. For one thing, Ananta, the great serpent that Vishnu usually slept on, was noticeably absent; missing too was the Milky Ocean, the universal stream that Ananta usually glided over. Despite these conspicuous absences, Teru noted that most of the other features were held intact, if not altered somewhat. The _srivatsa_ mark upon Vishnu's chest, the _kaustabha_ jewel worn about his neck, the crown upon his ears, the earing that signified the universe's inherent nature of dualism, and all the four attributes literally held in his four hands (_Shanka_, his conch; _Sudarshana_, his sharp-spinning, discuss-like chakra; _Kaumodaki_, his mace; and, lastly, a lotus flower) were all present. However, Vishnu did not stand so much as he drooped, and his expression was that of controlled dismay as if the universe that he had gone at such great lengths to sustain was now doomed to die at the hands of the heretical trinity below.

_Whenever I despair, I remember that the way of truth and love has always won._

"This is the kind of thing that'll happen if Yagami's power goes unchecked, you know," Flagg said in a strangely sombre voice, coming up from behind Teru. Teru was too captivated by the scene in front of him to avert his gaze but listened to his docent. "Probably not all this Hindu and nuclear stuff, mind you, but something like it, something similar to it. That's why you need to come to terms with Kira, kid. That's why I'm taking you to see The Dark Man."

_There may be tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they may seem invincible, but in the end, they always fail._

"The Dark Man is a monster", Teru retorted calmly enough; the sight drained him of all immediate fear concerning the epitome of his nightmares. He was also losing energy: Teru found that simply standing and speaking were tiring his scarce reserve of energy. "I don't see how he could help a person like me and a god like Kira, we who are dedicated to saving the world. If anything, the Dark Man would probably try to use us in order to destroy what little beauty and dignity this planet has left."

_Think of it:_

"I'll tell you this," the speakers commented, "No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn."

_Always._

At this time, the ship began to move away from the Trimurti. The ship increased its altitude, coming closer to Shiva, standing more towards the center of the god's chest. After lifting his head in order to see exactly where the ship was heading, Teru looked back through the telescope so that he could study the features of Shiva once more. Teru was aware that this probably wasn't the wisest course of action to take, but decided to indulge his more base, voyeuristic desires. Come what may, Teru needed to gaze on Shiva once more and come to terms with the living paradox, the coin with two starkly polar sides. Teru tried to reach out to Shiva's seemingly better nature, tried to absorb not so much the power of creation, but the positive energy that had to have come with it. Teru rarely admitted it, but he was actually starting to become tired of all the eliminating, of all the killing. It was true that he was eradicating evil on an unprecedented level, but... it was as if he was getting the short end of the bargain, as if that in order to experience the incredible catharsis that eliminating brought, he would have to take all the contagion and cancer that the deceased once carried and then store it inside himself. And it was this poison that Teru thought might be slowing him down, might be preventing him from undergoing the rush that he deserved for acting practically as Kira's own samurai. Great deeds deserved great rewards, after all.

Teru gave in to the blind hope that looking god would somehow negate all of his anxiety, impatience, and tension; he decided not to give in to the idea that this was probably the kind of flawed logic a junkie would use to justify his own disreputable habits.

Teru began to hate himself for that the moment he looked through his telescope.

Staring at Shiva was gratifying in the sense that Teru took comfort from knowing that a higher power actually existed, but it also significantly increased his own sense of insecurity. And this was the case for just observing the great god observe something else entirely. Teru shuddered to think how he would feel if Shiva deigned to turn his eyes upon him.

Teru did not have to wait long to find out how he would feel in that scenario. Shiva eventually gave Teru a brief yet paralyzing side-long glance and then gave an equally concise, petrifying, knowing smirk; Teru instantly felt too shaken up to keep staring out the telescope. Mercifully, Shiva and the rest of the Trimurti were fast becoming a speck in the distance when Teru lifted his head from the telescope. But even then, Teru was feeling so weak and light-headed that he had to lie with his back against the ship's railing.

"Listen to this, and I'll tell you 'bout the heartache," the ghost of Morrison sang in a consoling voice, "I'll tell you 'bout the heartache and the loss of God."

"Shut the hell up," Teru grumbled.

The ship continued on its way, and Teru felt less ready than ever to face The Dark Man.

_I will be hanged, if some eternal villain, some busy and insinuating rogue, some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, have not devised this slander; I will be hanged else. _

_Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible. _

_If any such there be, heaven pardon him._

* * *

Eventually, the ship came to a stop and hovered mid-air. Flagg, who had been taking a nap on the floor and snoring loudly enough to wake the dead, startled the living hell out of Teru when he unexpectedly opened his eyes and then leaped to his feet.

"Right then, here we are!" Flagg said cheerfully enough for someone who had just seen a ghastly premonition of the future. He grabbed the rope ladder and tossed it from the holdings to the ground below. "Now I suggest you get your little ass down there before I kick it down, you dig?"

"... sure," Teru cautiously replied. He didn't know what Flagg meant by "dig", but thought it best to comply with his demented guide's demands. Teru was now closer than ever to meeting the Dark Man, and though he could taste the panic rise in his throat like rancid bile, he was able to control it.

Teru climbed down the ladder and began to think through what options he had. After only a few moments, Teru acknowledged that, despite the somewhat good but mostly horrible and regrettable times he had shared with Flagg, he now had no other alternative but to eliminate his guide. But how to do it? Teru considered this as he climbed down the ladder, the speaker's volume becoming more and more faint until Teru could barely hear the ghost voice of Morrison wail something about faces coming out the rain. I can probably improvise something, Teru reassured himself, For Kira's sake, Teru, Randall may be evil made flesh but he's not all that bright and... wow, I think this is the first time I've noticed that he put a "Keep the guv'mint out of my health care" bumper sticker on the side of the ship.

Eventually, Teru reached the ground and immediately began to survey the area. Teru quickly became relieved that this was one area of The Wasteland that didn't resemble a Hieronymus Bosch painting on PCP and actually looked relatively normal. To the south, only about forty feet away or so, was the cave, a yawning black abyss, the one single opening of a series of a series of combined, dusty and aged mountains. To the east and only some ten feet away was a pile of rocks, the majority of them in the small to medium category. If I can just get a hold on one of them, I might be able to get myself out of this mess, Teru thought to himself.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!" Flagg said, leaping down from the ladder, his back turned to Teru as he watched the ship sail off and as Teru sneaked off and grabbed a good sized rock. Flagg, placing an arm in front of his eyes to protect himself from the flying sand, was somewhat too busy to turn his attention to his passenger. "End of the line, sunshine! If you have any pot, booze, or sedatives on you, I suggest you consume those little fuckers quickly, as meeting The Dark Man tends to race the human heart until it explodes! In the words of Motley Crue, you're about to shout at the devil, _muchacho_!"

Teru, having silently run to the pile of rocks and grabbing one, turned back in Flagg's direction, hoping to bash the back of his head in. A possibly underhanded way to kill a man, Teru thought, but I really don't have any options at this point and-

Teru found both his train of thought and hopes for freedom dashed to Hell when he turned around, only to find himself face to face with a wickedly beaming Flagg. Teru might have screamed in any other situation, but here he clamped his teeth shut with such force that he could hear the _clomp_ sound ringing through his ears, much louder than on any other given occasion. For a single moment that seemed to last a single eternity, Flagg's violent red eyes bore into Teru's toffee-colored eyes, and Teru was nearly convinced that his heart had stopped beating, that his blood had stopped circulating, and that his brain had lost all of its neural electricity. But if all the observations of this morbid panic were true, then Teru could die right here and right now, mercifully spared the cruel and unusual punishment that was The Dark Man.

Teru did not die, and he came close to cursing Kira's lack of clemency.

"Oh ho ho ho ho!" Flagg laughed, like an escaped insane asylum murderer who believed that he was Santa Clause. "And here I had you pegged as some sort of spineless yuppie! But lookie here: you were going to try to take down The Dark Man all by yourself, and with that little rock of yours! Man oh man, that may be the stupidest goddamn thing I've seen next to that one guy who was trying to get a cat out of a crawl space by putting even more cats in there, but it's also got to be one of the gutsiest things I've ever had the pleasure of seeing. Good job, kiddo!"

"Uh... thanks," Teru muttered, not letting go of the rock, and trying to keep his legs from trembling.

Flagg somehow grinned even wider, took a step back, and, quicker than even Teru could see, took out two black objects from his outward coat pockets. Before Teru could even see what they were, Flagg started twirling them about so fast that all Teru could make out were two black blurs. The objects came to a sudden halt, and Teru found himself looking at the barrels of two automatic Russian Stechkin APS'. But before Teru could even exclaim in horror, Flagg twirled the guns again so that the butts were now facing toward him. Teru blinked at the guns.

"Unfortunately, rocks aren't going to do much against someone like the Dark Man other than make him laugh," Flagg grinned. "Of course, it might convince him to take it easy on a natural born comedian such as yourself; Hell, if you're lucky, he may just cripple your neck rather than choke you with your own severed hand!"

"So... these guns will help put me on a more or less equal level with him?" Teru asked hopefully.

"What? Fuck no!" Flagg barked with laughter. "Thinking that these little babies are gonna help you take the Dark Man down old school-John Woo style is like thinking that it was a good idea for the members of KISS to show themselves without make-up: it's fucking stupid!"

"Then why are you giving them to me in the first place?" Teru snapped.

"Well, you need some form of defense other than that shit-kicker rock," Flagg grinned. "Also, it's better than nothing. So unless you don't want a sliver of a chance that the Dark Man won't use your head as a paper weight after your encounter, I suggest you take the guns right fucking now."

Teru grumbled at this (mostly at himself for stupidly allowing his hopes to go up), but dropped the rock and took the guns. Once he had done this, he stared at the guns with a stupefied expression.

"OK, I've never used one of these before," Teru admitted. "So, um, I just need to pull the trigger to fire it, right?"

"Well, first you need to take off the safety," Flagg said.

Teru looked at Flagg with an even more confounded look. "Safety?" he asked.

"Forget it, friend, forget it," Flagg said, wrapping one arm around Teru's neck and walking toward the cave with him. If Teru stomach hadn't been cramping itself in growing, abject horror, Flagg might have reminded him of some slimy but proficient car salesman. "All that's important is that you go head to head, toe to toe with tall, dark, and spooky in there. I have the utmost faith that you'll use what skills you have to at least stall him before he tries to rip out all of your tendons."

"Wonderful," Teru muttered.

"Oh, and kid?" Flagg asked right when he and Teru were before the cave.

"Hmm?" Teru responded.

Flagg uttered a sharp cry like a shaolin monk from an old Shaw Brothers flick, and then hit Teru's face with a brutal, stiff back kick. The kick grounded Teru like no other, and the first thing that Teru thought before he was left dazed on the sand was how peculiar it was that Flagg should try to imitate one of those old mechanical water-drinking birds.

Flagg grabbed Teru by the back of his neck, and started dragging him even closer to the cave. "Word of advice, _compadre_," Flagg grinned. "Next time you run into me or one of my kind, I suggest that you don't even think about attacking one of us, much less attacking one of us with a goddamn rock. That is, if you don't want one of us to tear out your kidney and then start slapping you silly with it."

Teru mumbled something incoherent to this; he would have tried to reply with better articulation, but he decided that trying to get his eyesight to stop spinning was a bit more significant for the moment.

"See? I'd knew you understand!" Flagg beamed, releasing the neck, and then kicking Teru's side so hard that the young man went sailing and spinning into the cave. Though still groggy, Teru gave sharp cry of pain when his arm slammed against the stone wall inside. Still moving quickly, Flagg grabbed both of Teru's guns and tossed them in. "Well, that settles that! Good luck, kid, and try not to scream too loudly when he tears out chunks of your neck with his teeth!"

"RANDALL, NO!" Teru suddenly screamed, regaining consciousness rapidly at the idea of seeing The Dark Man, holding one arm out to Flagg, as if there was any chance that he would take pity on this poor sacrifice. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! YOU CAN'T-"

"_Que sera_, _sera_ kiddo," Flagg smirked, his eyes alight like young children taking pleasure in a Christmas fireplace. The very sight caused Teru's throat to choke a little in astonishment and briefly cut off his wailing. And the last thing that Teru saw of Flagg was those monstrous red eyes and grin before Flagg snapped his fingers, causing the mouth of the cave to suddenly shoot upright, effectively sealing the cave shut.

And then there was nothing but darkness.

"NO!" Teru screamed hysterically, dragging himself to the newly constructed wall, and banging on it for dear life, ignoring the blisters and scratches his hands were receiving. "NO NO NO NO NO! RANDALL! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THIS, YOU FUCK! YOU LET ME OUT RIGHT GODDAMN NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU LET ME OUT OR... OR... OH FUCK, HAVE MERCY ON ME, RANDALL! DON'T MAKE ME GO THROUGH THIS! RANDALL? RANDALL!"

Teru continued to holler and bellow himself hoarse, pounding ineffectively against the rocky wall all the while. But it was no use. He was all alone now, all alone in the dark, and no amount of desperate pleas or threats would save him now.

"OH MY DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, SAVE ME!" Teru hollered in sheer panic before exhausting himself and lying on the ground, panting and gasping for breath.

But Kira didn't answer, and so Teru was left alone in the dark.

All alone in the dark with the Dark Man.

_I feel cold, death._

_That place... is strong with the dark side of the Force. A domain of evil it is. In you must go._

_What's in there?_

_Only what you take with you. _

* * *

"And that takes care of that," Flagg said, sounding quite pleased with himself, clapping and rubbing his hands together in an askew manner, as if he had just finished mowing the lawn or paving the driveway. "Oh, how I do love helping young men fulfill their potential."

Flagg began to whistle once more, contemplating the victory that he and Teru were practically guaranteed to achieve. Teru was brilliant in his fashion, but the boy had no idea what he was getting himself into nor did he have the slightest idea that he was the key strategic piece in a war that was even older than all of mankind. Of course, it was best that way, best that the kid didn't know who was pulling the strings behind this little grindhouse double feature, best that he didn't know the vast extent of his own potential power. Still, Teru would, more likely than not, find out that all of this journey of the hero crap was worth it in the end.

"That boy is going places," Flagg said to himself, closing his eyes in relaxation and placing his arms beneath his head. "I can goddamn well guarantee it. That hunk of shit planet is finally going to get the god it deserves. And won't it be a glorious sight, all that fire, all that rubble, the Dead Sea rising up once more, the capture of the tower-"

He will not take the tower. He will not win this war.

Flagg snapped open his eyes and then twisted his head and body in every which way. He found no one but himself by what was once the cave's entrance, yet he had definitely heard a voice. But it wasn't the sensation of having someone whispering so near his ear that unnerved Flagg.

The voice had come from inside. And it was definitely not his voice. This voice was chilling, harsh, yet effortless. It was arguably even more intimidating than Flagg's own voice. With Flagg, his voice was a nucleus of twisted sadism hidden underneath layers of good cheer and hokey jokes. With this new voice, there was no humor, there was no spiteful glee, and there was no charm. There was only the voice of a man who had seen all the dangers in the world and spat on them. A voice whose owner was not on good terms with Flagg.

Roland, Flagg thought. He didn't know why and how he said that name. It simply matched the voice, and even without any concrete proof, Flagg was sure that the voice and the name were connected.

Exactly who Roland was was largely a mystery to Flagg. What wasn't so much a mystery was the effect that hearing that name had on Flagg; the name itself summoned familiar and nearly tangible feelings of frustration, humiliation, outrage, and fear without any clear memories to attach them to. Flagg only had a handful of memories inside his labyrinth-in-a-Chinese-box-inside-a-Matryoshka-doll, and though the memories themselves were murky, he could not stop recalling them whenever he was on his own. Flagg suspected that this was intentional; How else could he possess all this power yet possess a mind not up to par? Someone was responsible for the discombobulation, probably to chain Flagg, to control him, to prevent him from becoming infuriated with whoever was pulling his strings. Who was the culprit? Was it this Roland? Or was it someone else entirely? There was, so far as Flagg knew, no way of figuring out these questions.

But this much he knew: the name Roland belonged to a right bastard, one that had probably been a continual thorn in his side in one of his lives. And there was a single image to accompany both name and sound, one that appeared frequently in his head. It had come up during meditations. It had come up during dreams. It came up when his mind was simply wandering away.

A black tower in the background. A raven sitting on thorned vines in the foreground. The entire setting a desert not unlike The Wasteland. And there, in the center, standing upright and proud, with a look of complete, pitiless contempt, stood a man expertly holding two large pistols with a brown leather coat, a red scarf, and rugged pants.

It was a gunslinger.

But... was it truly Roland?

"I don't know who you are," Flagg snarled, "but I suggest you turn around and piss off. The boy belongs to us, understand? He will become Kira! He will take the tower! And, this I can assure you, he will stomp on the entire planet without mercy and I'll be right there, by his side, laughing my ass off."

Roland or whoever the hell the voice belonged to did not reply to this declaration; Flagg hawked and spat a good sized portion of phlegm onto the ground, hoping that whatever had spoken to him would get the hint that Flagg was not afraid of defeat and that he did not believe his plans wouldn't come to fruition.

This much was a lie. There were only a handful of non-metahuman/non-superhuman/non-whatever adepts on the planet, Yagami and Teru included. And in addition to the world virtually being on the brink of annihilation due to the humans themselves, there was Kira's rule and Teru's disillusionment that had to be taken into consideration. This was a rare time, a rare time indeed, a time that Flagg intended to take advantage of in any way he could. He and his new masters could simply not afford to.

Flagg paused, crouched down, and picked up a patch of sand with one hand. He held it there in his palms for a moment, then allowed it to gently dance away from his hands into the sky.

"I will show you fear in a handful of dust," Flagg quoted with sober eyes, with a tone of surprising reverence.

But then, sooner than one would like to admit, the soberness of the eyes and the reverence of the eyes died and the grin with no soul returned to Flagg's lips.

"Maybe that poem isn't complete bullshit after all," he chuckled.

The Walking Dude laughed again and levitated himself into the air, enjoying the magic that he was granted whenever key transfigurations were imminent. He did not know for sure if Teru would pass his test or not, but Flagg held confidence in Teru, and that was enough for now. And in the grand scheme of things, did it really matter? Flagg thrived after the spread of the disease Captain Trips and nearly succeeded in winning the war. But to focus solely or mostly on the disease in any account of the war would have been unwise. Captain Trips was, for all its destruction, merely a plot device. It was by sheer luck (or misfortune, depending on who you asked, not that Flagg was asking) that the disease spread and created the chaos that Flagg loved more than anything else.

The Death Note was no different. In and of itself, it wasn't all that impressive. Put it in the right hands (or wrong, again depending on who you asked, not that Flagg cared about any answer save his), and you've got yourself a potential catastrophe. You've got World War II. You've got the Dark Ages. You've got rape, murder, pillaging, and all the aspects of humanity that God ever regretted creating.

Yep, whatever way you looked at things, Flagg and his kind were likely to benefit handsomely from this conflict. It mattered little if Light won. It mattered equally little if Teru won. What mattered is that someone won.

Of course, Flagg thought, Teru was filled with all kinds of hatred, venom that tunneled deep into nearly every single fiber of his being. The kid may have graduated _summa cum laude _or _caput capitis sursum_ _suus ass _or whatever, but so long as he didn't consciously know that he wanted revenge against humanity for rejecting his naïve and narrow scope of justice, then the fire was sure to scorch all corners of the planet. It could even be that Teru possessed even more wrath than Yagami, and that, should Teru succeed, he would create even more chaos than his dear old pa.

Just like good ol' Adolf. Christ, did Flagg have fun with that one.

Ah, but Flagg's role had been played out, and all he could really do now was sit back and watch. It was time for a well-deserved break and for considerable restraint. Flagg wished that he could be at the forefront of Teru's army, choking the collective throat of man and woman, but contented himself with the knowledge that he was not necessary for such a lofty goal.

For if either the father or the son won, then humanity lost.

Flagg's grin somehow stretched even wider at this thought; it compelled him to begin whistling "Paint It Black"_, _one of his favorites, as he softly landed back on the ground and walked away.

The future looked bright indeed.

* * *

Teru must have passed out from exorbitant panic and physical and mental exhaustion, for he came to in what was largely darkness, feeling both groggy and addled, temporarily unsure of where he was and what he was doing there. It took only some seconds for him to recall that Flagg, that treacherous lunatic, had abandoned him in this Kira-forsaken den in order to meet his dreaded antagonist. Teru briefly worried that panic would overtake him once more but failed to freak out as before; he supposed that he must have purged out all of hysteria out of him with his last little demeaning outburst.

Well, isn't that just fantastic, Teru thought sardonically. I've managed to arrive at the "acceptance" stage of the Kübler-Ross model. And, here's yet another surprise, Teru, my boy, it doesn't look like your pituitary gland is generous enough today to flood your spinal cord and brain with endorphins.

Muttering to himself, Teru picked himself up, but noticed that something was new about his clothes. He patted himself to see what was different, then decided that he needed whatever source of light was in the cave to properly diagnose the change. He looked behind him; there was a path of sorts, large enough for a few people to cross into while all walking at the front. On the rock walls were two lines of torches; the torches were made of bones and attached to the walls with wood and metal fastings.

He's expecting me then, Teru thought unenthusiastically.

Picking up his guns, Teru approached one of the torches and then used the light to inspect himself. A pocket had been impossibly sewed onto his ghutra (Flagg, Teru bitterly thought), and when Teru put down the guns for a moment and rummaged inside, he came up with a thick, red road flare. Not knowing exactly what this was for, but hoping that it would come in handy, Teru put the flare and the guns into the pocket. He then took a torch from the wall and, gulping a little with controlled consternation, proceeded down the pathway.

Teru continued down the pathway, the torch lighting up enough for him to move ahead without worrying that zombies were going to come out and tear his body in half. Still, a palpable sense of apprehension possessed Teru, and it did not leave him as he continued to trek down the pathway. There was also something strangely familiar about this place, not so much as it was a place Teru had been before as it was fragments of different elements he had witnessed in the past, all adding up to a macabre summation. There was something primal about this place, something old and best forgotten; it brought out what Teru considered to be an irrational sense of dread, the same apprehension he felt as a boy fearing the monster that was surely waiting underneath his bed or the beast that was doubtlessly biding its time in the closet despite his mother's empty assurances that there were no such things as "monsters". And for a while, Teru had fallen for that story, hook, line, and sinker. For was it not virtually law that a key prerequisite for transition into adulthood be the surrendering of imagination and the acquisition of distaste for the imaginative? Was it not a societal expectation that at some point, a young man give up thoughts of gallant knights, dragons, and magic in favor of the stock market, taxes, and illiberal politics? Teru himself had consented to this faustinian bargain, had traded his belief in magic and adventure for success in a world that he eventually discovered he detested. His mother, his teachers, his counselors, the entire adult society at large, they all played the role of Mephistopheles flawlessly; they lied to Teru, they told him the world made sense, they said there was a clear line between good and evil, and, most unforgivable of all, they told him that monsters did not exist. And that last lie was the "most unkindest cut of all" (_Julius Caesar _was Teru's favorite work of Shakespeare). Teru suspected that something wasn't quite right with this oath all throughout childhood, as being the victim of several assaults taught Teru that so-called "normal" children took pleasure in battering the weak and in watching the defenseless become oppressed.

As an attorney, his disillusionment had come full circle: there were monsters, only they were the proverbial wolves in sheeps' clothings. It was the only sensible explanation, the only thing that could illuminate why a mild-mannered pharmacy clerk had been murdering and storing the bodies of his customers in his basement, why an obsessed young man had taken the life of his girlfriend (incidentally, by the name of Elisa Day) with the excuse that "all beauty must die". Everyone in the courtrooms agreed unanimously that Teru Mikami had all the restraint and patience of a Taoist monk, but what they didn't know about him could have filled a book of blood. It wasn't just that they didn't know that he was Kira's executioner; it wasn't just that they were unaware of how deep and how raw his antipathy for humankind ran. What they didn't know that was of such great significance was that there was a flame inside Teru, a rage that burned especially furiously whenever he came across such wolves in sheeps' clothings, such monsters in humans' skins. It was at these times in the courtroom that Teru wanted to leap at the monsters, wanted to rip off their ridiculous masks, wanted to show the whole world the truth they refused to recognize and scream, "Show me it! Show me your true fucking face! I don't care what you are, JUST SHOW IT TO ME!"

Teru once thought that he could handle seeing the monster behind the mask. Now, he wasn't so certain.

_Show me what you really look like, instead of being a coward, whose only real power is to hide behind other people's faces!_

_Heh. Do you really want to see?_

There was something wrong with the air in the cave, Teru wondered as the path ended and opened into a large, tenebrous space. It wasn't that it smelled bad per se, but rather it was more like something had tainted the oxygen, that something beyond even Teru's worst reckonings had taken the cave as its adobe and exuded something foul and pestilent that perverted the entire geography.

Maybe that's why this place is so melancholy, Teru thought. Maybe it represents the darker caverns of my mind, the tunnels that I try to not travel in. But be that as it may, this cave has a distinct style that is definitely not of my creation. It does seem fairly familiar though. But what could-

Teru suddenly thought of a vacation (that his firm, exhausted of all other options, ordered him to take) he had taken in the lesser populated outskirts of the capital of Switzerland, Bern. He had rented a remotely located cabin in the woods, the silver lining of his forced respite being that he could be miles away from human civilization. However, surprising even himself, Teru's bitterness and anxieties were put at ease as he took in the peaceful beauty of the winter landscape, how he found repose just by listening to the singing of the finches, how he had found tranquility simply by meditating under a humongous tree. This serenity had been effectively interrupted when he had decided to attend an art exhibition inside the city. Teru did not know who or what the art gallery was showing, but his rare good mood convinced him to at least give it a shot and found it unlikely that anything could disrupt his newfound peace. Then, as many times before, Teru would find out that he had been egregiously incorrect.

Hideous, monstrous, mordant, gratuitously sexual... the paintings and sculptures were all these and even more. And by the looks of things, that was exactly how the artist had intended them to be. It was quite a sight for Teru, not just to look at the oeuvre of a potential madman, but to see the apparently reputable patrons of the arts take in the works as if they were something perfectly reasonable and not images of savage creatures humping women who seemed to be part-flesh, part-machine. And yet, despite the grotesqueness of it all, Teru had to admit that he was impressed with the style and the colors, and eventually got to speaking with a fellow art enthusiast and Swiss. This Swiss was small and rotund, in his late middle ages with regular gray hair and a face not unlike that of a bulldog's. Despite the Swiss' less than spectacular looks, he was friendly and greatly learned, and Teru began to find himself having one of those rare conversations with another brilliant human being that he appreciated so much. In addition to the present art itself, the two discussed Salvador Dali, Ernst Fuchs, and H.P. Lovecraft. Had not Teru been fluent in German, he would not have discovered during the conversation that the man he was speaking with was the artist himself, nor that the painter and sculptor was stimulated with both Teru's knowledge of art and opinion that his work wasn't the greatest thing on the planet. At the end of the night, the artist gave Teru a large print of one of his paintings, which Teru would later proudly hang in his living room despite some of the strange looks many of his guests would give him for putting up something that showed a devil using Jesus Christ as a slingshot with demonic snakes writhing beside him.

Knowing that he had seen a similar art style he had seen in an American movie years ago, Teru performed some internet research and learned with no surprise that the Swiss artist was the primary designer on _Alien_. Teru had always thought that _Alien_ was a great movie, as well as one of the most intelligent horror films he had ever seen. Unfortunately, Ryuk had found the DVD in his bookcase, and it was now not at all uncommon for Teru to come home after a long day at the office only to find Ryuk laughing raucously at the sight of a monster bursting through someone's stomach.

What was that artist's name again? Teru asked himself. It was... oh yes, it was H.R. Giger, I believe.

Teru continued to venture down into the cave as best as he could with the meager torch when a sudden thought stopped him dead in his tracks. When Teru dreamed (something that was rare, given how his mind was burgeoned with thoughts at the end of the day), he often dreamed of all the ugliness in the world, of all the vermin and scum that he needed to eliminate sooner or later, and despite the respect he held for Giger and his art, the gothic and cybersexual images inevitably made their way into his dreams. And if this was quickly shaping up to be a nightmare, then that meant-

Teru's thoughts were interrupted when a horrid screech sounded through the cave, worse than an army's collective fingernails screeching down a blackboard, worse than the shrill cries of a flock of harpies. The sound sucker punched Teru, causing him to drop to his knees, squint his eyes shut, place both hands against his ears, drop his torch, and pray fervently that at least one of his eardrums would remain intact. Eventually, the intolerable shriek died down, and, the torch having been extinguished by the fall, Teru quickly took out his flare, took off its cap, lighted it, and then tossed it a good distance forward. The flare must have been of a good build because it had lit up a better-than-average portion of the cave. And if other things weren't so pertinent at the moment, Teru would have remarked further on the fantastic construction of the flare.

What the flare revealed in the former tranquil darkness of the cave took his breath away and threatened to break his sanity.

There were no rock walls or rock ceilings inside the cave. The walls and the ceiling were made of something different entirely: human flesh and human faces.

_I have been shown the path._

Perhaps the faces had been sleeping. Perhaps the bright light of the flare had frightened them. Whatever the case, the thousands, if not millions, of pale and haggard faces opened their eyes and released a deafening cacophony that played on Teru's ears like a pair of scissors being jabbed inside his auditory cavities. The faces, an assortment of wide-ranging, diverse complexions and colors save their mutual necrotic pallidness, screamed, wept, and begged in a grab-bag of languages, a chorus of Babylonian proportions.

_I must follow where it leads._

But even this nightmarish bit of interior design paled in comparison to what was coming towards him.

_Like Parsifal, I must confront the unreason that threatens me. _

The monster was easily over thirty feet tall with luminous gray-blue skin and a gaunt, sharp anatomy. It had no eyes on its pumpkin-shaped head, but the wide, nose-less nostrils suggested that smell made up for lost sight. There were six small horns circled around its head, and a long, sharp tail jutted out from the back of its skull. Behind its shoulders were a pair of wings not unlike a bat's, except that that there was somehow another set of wings attached to the top of each individual appendage. Its mouth was freakishly large with small but undeniably sharp teeth completely filling both sides of the aperture. Elongating from the jaw were two crab-like pinchers connected to a circular shaped chin. The thing crawled on all fours, and it had the lean, edged feet of a raptor. Fins of bone pressed against the skin of its back, making it look even more skeletal and grotesque. It also had the beginning of what could have been a tail, but the accessory had, for whatever reason, split into two tails, long enough to circle around the beast. All three tails had talons at the tips, looking very much like three anatomical scythes.

_I must go alone into the Dark Tower. _

It was a dragon.

_Without a backward glance._

The dragon came closer and when it screeched again, Teru knew that such a sound could have only come from something born in the vast gulfs of chaos, from something that resided in nightmares as black as sin. It could only have come from The Dark Man.

_And face the dragon within._

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Teru screamed, eyes bulging, hair standing on the back of his neck, distantly surprised that he had not lost control of his bowels. Though far more mind-numbingly terrified than he had ever been in his life, Teru somehow found the fortitude to pull out both of his guns and then fire them simultaneously, screaming incoherently all the while. Bullets tore at the flesh of the monster, causing it to roar furiously at Teru. However, the guns were not enough to bring it down, and it advanced towards Teru without any rush, knowing that Teru stood no chance at surviving this encounter. Blood and flesh dripped from the dragon onto the ground, but in very small doses, more of an irritant than anything else. Teru was getting the worst of the fight by far: not only was he only inflicting a meager amount of damage, but the flare gave what was once the darkness of the cave a red lighting, making it look like the cavern of some hellish inferno. But then again, this wasn't all that far from the truth, was it? For, as the dragon stepped over the flare, spreading its wings, it became covered in red luminescence, and looked like a daemon of Hades, coming to drag its prey into the pits of the damned.

I'm in Hell, Teru thought, amidst the thunder and the lightning of his cannons.

Eventually, both clips of the guns ran out, and soon all Teru heard was the rapid _click click click _ noise of his empty weapons. At this point, the dragon was only a few mere inches away from Teru, jaws opened wide, teeth glistening, drool dripping from its mouth in large quantities, ready to engulf Teru into a sea of saliva and teeth. Teru dropped to his knees, exhausted and numb, his head hung and staring at the ground. And why not meet the end this way, readily accepting defeat and death? He never stood a chance against The Dark Man at all, and this thing born of fire was surely it. It did not look like The Dark Man Teru knew, and it didn't look like Teru, but it could have been nothing else but the very combination of all that he feared and dreaded, the epitome of all the world's evil.

The dragon leaned in, ready to consume Teru's body and soul.

"Forgive me, Kira," Teru whispered, closing his eyes, preparing for oblivion.

_Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall and by the doom of death end woes and all._

"Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory," a new voice boomed throughout the cave, "for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated!"

An explosion sounded throughout the cavern, and a series of whistling sounds rapidly made their way towards both Teru and the dragon. The progenitor of these high-pitched sounds soon became evident as thirty two barbed arrows rocketed towards the human and the monster. The arrows' trajectory was imprecise; ten of them hit the ground. However, they were simultaneously efficacious, as the dragon screamed in furious agony after the rest of the arrows shot into and through his body. Miraculously, none of the arrows hit Teru, though he dumbly watched the carnage unfold with a look of stupefied wonder; he didn't even blink when a bit of the dragon's black blood flew onto his cheek.

"The important thing in a military operation is victory, not persistence!" The voice roared as a humanoid outline leaped from a inconspicuous indenture, approximately twenty feet in the air, towards the dragon and Teru. Jars and an antique rocket launcher of sorts (A... Ming Dynasty weapon? Teru numbly thought, Isn't that what they called a... a 'nest of bees'?) fell onto the ground with the outline, resulting in several fireballs that illuminated the entire cave. The jars evidently contained some form of liquid explosive.

The explosions shook Teru from his daze, and he dived out of the way of the apparently fearless challenger. Teru ran a few feet away, intending to get the hell as far away from the dragon and this new figure as he could but then stopped abruptedly in his tracks, his intense curiosity having gotten the better of him. Whatever was happening, it directly involved him, and not only would it do Teru no good to run away, he was also sick of acting like a coward and from running away from his responsibilities, from Flagg, from Kira, and even from The Dark Man. And so Teru stood and watched the battle between his hopeful savior and the dragon, witnessing the battle with increasingly shocked and incredulous eyes, but standing his ground all the while.

Whatever was attacking the dragon was moving with such speed and agility that all Teru could see was a black blur with two red, glowing eyes, holding what seemed to be two carved swords in each hand. Now more curious than ever, Teru activated his death god eyes, attempting to at least learn the name of this incredible warrior. However, the swordsman was moving so quickly and so expertly, dodging every attack the dragon made, that the name appeared and disappeared in synchronization with all the leaps, twirls, front flips, and back flips. As a result, Teru could barely make out the first letter of the dragon slayer's name.

Teru's attempt to learn the warrior's name was jarringly interrupted by a horrid screech of pain uttered by the dragon: the warrior had somehow sliced off the right wings of the dragon, and blood spurted from the wound sporadically, but in large amounts, like a lawn sprinkler possessed by a demon. With the right wings severed, the warrior began to decrease his speed, allowing Teru to make out some of the mystery man's features: black, spiky, shoulder-length hair, some sort of ancient Chinese general's armor (From the... from the Zhou Dynasty? Teru observed with bewilderment), and two Chinese _dao_ swords.

The dragon put up the best fight that it could, but it was ultimately no match for its new foe. In the course of only a few minutes, the warrior had sliced off the right leg, left arm, and two tails of the monster. Black blood gushed everywhere in staggering quantities, yet the warrior was somehow able to avoid touching any part of the black life force. Becoming weak from significant blood loss, the dragon made one last attempt to swipe at the warrior with its remaining taloned claws; the warrior easily evaded this by spinning his body out of harm's reach. The warrior, his back to the dragon, then retaliated by taking both of his swords and impaling them into the beast's stomach, all without looking backwards and with no less than awe-inspiring grace. The monster responded to this stunning feat of athleticism by unleashing its worst screech yet, a savage sound that made Teru regret that he didn't have enough ammunition to put himself out of his misery. By contrast, the warrior did not seem fazed in the least. Instead, he ran up the side of the dragon, kicked off of it, front flipped in the air, and brought both swords down onto its neck, effectively beheading it twice.

The dragon, finally slain, fell onto its stomach. It's stump of a neck now pumped out blood like a broken fire hydrant, but the warrior simply and easily leaped out of the way of the nasty stuff. Teru could have wondered just how the warrior was able to both attack and defend so superbly without being tainted by the blood, but he didn't, for his entire attention was focused on finding out the identity of his rescuer.

The warrior studied the corpse of his late opponent for a few moments, and then turned around to face Teru.

Teru's mind went blank. His heart beat ferociously. His breathing became faint and shallow. It was the best moment of his life; it was the worst moment of his life. It was the most important moment of his life. Words failed him. Logic failed him. Nothing in Teru's life had ever prepared him for this, and under less stressful situations, Teru would have suspected that nothing could have ever made him ready to face this man. Yet the man was here all the same.

The warrior was Asian, and, yes, he did have long, spiky, black hair. His eyes, once blaring red, had turned into an ordinary shade of brown. A faint black mustache rested under his nose, and a long but thin strand of black facial hair ran from his chin. He was, judging from his armor, Chinese, likely from the Warring States Period. These details may have been intriguing to others; they were not intriguing to Teru. It was the identity of this warrior that put his brain on stand-by mode.

The warrior was Teru.

And the warrior was Sun Tzu.

"I've been expecting you, Teru," The Dark Man said.

_Oh, what may man within him hide, though angel on the outward hide! _

* * *

WORKS CITED:

Macbeth (Play)

The Watchmen (Graphic Novel)

Heart of Darkness (Novella)

King Lear (Play)

100 Bullets (Graphic Novel)

Metal Gear Solid (Video Game)

Gandhi (Movie)

Othello (Play)

Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (Movie)

Fullmetal Alchemist (Manga/Anime)

Batman: Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth (Graphic Novel)

The Comedy of Errors (Play)

Measure For Measure (Play)


	11. Chapter VII: Judas Is Rising

**I CAN'T LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT LIGHT**

**CHAPTER VII:**

**JUDAS IS RISING**

You've been with the professors, and they've all liked your looks  
With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks  
You've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books

You're very well read, it's well known.  
But something is happening here  
And you don't know what it is  
Do you, Mister Jones ?

-Bob Dylan

A voice spoke to me and it slowly started sayin'  
"Bring your lifestyle to me I'll make it better"  
How long will I live?  
"Eternal life and forever"  
And will I be, the G that I was?  
"I'll make your life better than you can imagine or even dreamed of  
So relax your soul, let me take control  
Close your eyes my son"  
My eyes are closed

-Snoop Dogg

Is all that we see or seem  
But a dream within a dream?

-Edgar Allen Poe

* * *

… _think our former state but a happy dream; from which awaked, the truth of what we are shows us but this. _

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Teru screamed.

"Teru-" Master Sun Tzu/The Dark Man started.

"NO! GET BACK!" Teru yelled, his eyes bulging, goosebumps spreading through practically every inch of his flesh, hairs standing up on the back of his neck at full attention. Teru, in his hasty effort to move away from this king of his nightmares, tripped over his feet and fell to the ground with an audible _Gah! _ Not deterred, Teru quickly but clumsily made his way back to his feet and ran until he put enough distance between him and the walls of the pale faces and wan skin. Strangely, the faces had grown silent after Master Sun slayed the dragon; they now watched the drama unfold with unblinking eyes, milky pupils of the dead lightly shining with some small spark of intrigue. "JUST... STAY BACK! STAY THE FUCK BACK!"

"This is not what you think it is, child," Master Sun/The Dark Man said. "If you will just but listen to me-"

"LIAR!" Teru bellowed hoarsely, pointing a shaky, accusatory finger at Master Sun. "TRAITOR! YOU WERE MY MASTER! YOU WERE MY GODDAMN SENSEI!"

"Yes, I was, and I still am!" Master Sun exclaimed. "This has all been done because of you, Teru! The time of your destiny is nigh! Soon, you will-"

"SHUT UP!" Teru screamed. His heart beat exceedingly fast, and his breath became so harsh and thin that he began to distantly fear that he would soon hyperventilate. He grabbed an ounce of flesh on his chest and twisted it, hoping to use the pain to prevent him from passing out. Though feeling increasingly weak, Teru did his best to stand his ground, and the result was not unimpressive given his condition. Still, he felt nausea spread over him like a blanket of contagion. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! YOU MONSTER! YOU FREAK! ALL THOSE PEOPLE! ALL THOSE LIVES! AND YOU MADE ME WATCH, YOU SICK BASTARD! YOU MADE ME FUCKING WATCH!"

"It was a charade, Teru!" Master Sun/The Dark Man said. "It was a test that you had to be put through! Why else would I, your _sifu_, put you through all that trauma? Why else would I treat my reincarnation so horribly? It was all a means to an end, one that can-"

"Your- your reincarnation?" Teru asked, his face falling. His face soon took on the form of a would-be smug, fierce grin that poorly hid the incredulous, acrid fury building up within him. "Do you really expect me to believe a such a... such a goddamn ridiculous idea like that? You must really want to die, old man!"

Sun Tzu narrowed his eyes, as if disappointed with his pupil. "You're terrible at lying, Teru," The Dark Man said. "I can tell that you're doing your best to deny the irrefutable evidence. Didn't you ever wonder why you were able to understand my book like no one else? How you were able to find patterns and interpretations that no one else could? How you could apply it in ways no one else could imagine? Admit it, Teru! You've suspected it all along! But it's not just that we're related! You and I are of the same soul-"

Screaming in perplexed and uncontrollable outrage, Teru leaped at his master, hands thrust out, intending to grab him by the throat and choke him out. Master Sun, neither perturbed nor shocked, easily and effortlessly spun out of the way, sending Teru sprawling into the ground.

"I can already tell you that no good will come out of this, Teru," The Dark Man said. "Remember what I taught you! Control your anger! Evaluate the situation dispassionately-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Teru screamed, staring at Sun Tzu like some wild, crazed beast. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Screaming again, Teru attacked Master Sun once more, throwing all the different punches, kicks, and strikes he knew at his former master. However, far from falling prey to his irate pupil, The Dark Man calmly and lucidly countered each and every single blow that Teru threw at him; Teru, noticing that Master Sun was barely expending any energy while defending himself, became even more enraged and stepped up the speed of his attacks. At this, The Dark Man blocked an arm strike hard enough to make Teru involuntarily wince and hiss in pain. Master Sun followed this up with a double palm strike that struck Teru directly in his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him crashing down into the sand and stones once more.

"I see you've been keeping up with your training," Master Sun remarked as Teru struggled to get to his feet. Teru used one hand to help push himself up from his knees; he used the other hand to hold his head in a futile attempt to stop the room from spinning. "And you've become quite good, better than even I could have hoped. But you are not good enough-"

"I HATE YOU!" Teru screamed with what little power he had left. And with that same meager amount of strength, Teru attempted to tackle Sun Tzu with his shoulders, hoping to bring down his scheming and backstabbing ex-teacher once and for all.

Something very different happened. Instead of Teru knocking The Dark Man down to the ground and then pummeling his face in, Master Sun did not move at all. Teru struggled even harder, pushing against his feet as best as he could, feeling the veins in his forearms about to pop with the immense pressure being placed on them; feeling stupidly like an anorexic football player, Teru reflected that he was having about as much luck moving Sun Tzu as a priest had trying to convert homosexuals.

Teru felt something like a solid steel baseball bat crack against his back; despite feeling like all the air had been knocked out of him, Teru was able to realize that his master had most likely struck him on the back with scarcely believable superhuman strength. Teru might have wondered just how it was that someone could possess such power if not for the fact that he felt The Dark Man's arm wrap around his neck, place Teru's arm around his neck, and then grab Teru's side with the other hand. Still somewhat delirious, Teru was not completely aware of what Master Sun was attempting he felt himself being lifted in the air. Before he could even realize that he was being suplexed, Teru felt his body crash into the ground, every bone crying out in sharp pain, his head even dizzier than before.

Teru closed his eyes tight, hoping to somehow ward off all the excruciating maladies tormenting his anatomy. When he opened his eyes, unsuccessful in his endeavor, his tired eyes met the furious eyes of The Dark Man only inches away from his, with a fuming sneer to match. Frozen stiff and held by those terrifying, paralyzing eyes, eyes that could have only belonged to a man whose business was killing and whose business always boomed, Teru did not doubt that if he still had his gun on him, he would have shot his own brains out. But before that thought could proceed any further, Master Sun Tzu's hand shot forward with alarming speed and clutched Teru's throat, the experience not unlike that of a boa constrictor wrapping itself around someone's neck. Teru tried to break free as frantically as he could, but still he could not stop his eyes from peering, horrified at the demon eyes that held his.

"ENOUGH OF THIS!" Sun Tzu bellowed into Teru's astonished face. "YOU WILL STAND STILL AND LISTEN TO YOUR MASTER, TERU MIKAMI! DO NOT THINK THAT I SHALL NOT USE WHATEVER MEANS I HAVE TO INCAPACITATE YOU! YOUR INSOLENCE IS INSUFFERABLE, YOUR IMPETUOUSNESS IS INTOLERABLE, AND YOUR SUBVERSION IS UNACCEPTABLE! NOW LISTEN!"

For a few moments there was only a deeply pensive silence. The hand on Teru's throat, though tight, still allowed him to breathe efficiently while being kept in place. The Dark Man continued to glare at Teru with great severity, and Teru was forced to acknowledge that the sooner he cooperated, the sooner he could stop staring into the face of Hell itself.

"As I have said before," Master Sun continued in a straight but stern voice, "You are my reincarnation and my successor. That you have come so far as X-Kira is not just because you have absorbed my teachings but also because you have thought about them and practiced them in new and unique ways. I will not lie to you: it was I who forced you to endure those monstrous nightmares for so much of your life. That was indeed me, and I regret the fact that I needed to do it. But I do not regret the reason why I needed to do it. And if you decide to stop acting like a tantrum-throwing child, which is both below your dignity and mine, then I will gladly explain those reasons to you."

Another sequence of tense silence followed. Sun Tzu's grip on Teru's throat relaxed, enough to keep him in place and enough so that Teru could speak without feeling like a vice was crushing his neck.

"Let's say I believe you," Teru said through his gritted teeth. His breathing came out in harsh, raw strips, and he had to pause and garner enough saliva to pass down his throat in order to continue speaking. "Let's say that I accept the idea that I'm your... your reincarnation. That this has all been for some purpose that I've yet to understand. That you did this for my own good and not to subject me to incredible agony. What then? Where would we go from there?"

"First, I would heal you," Sun Tzu said, not taking his eyes off of Teru's. "Then I would tell you why you are here, why I put you through all those horrid nightmares, and where you destiny lies."

Teru paused and thought about his options; there weren't many. Option one consisted of telling Master Sun to go fuck himself, the consequence of which would probably be getting his head kicked off of his neck. Even if The Dark Man was lying to him, he hadn't killed him yet, which meant that his sensei still wanted something out of him.

There was no other alternative.

"Do it," Teru said.

Master Sun nodded, placed both hands palm down on Teru's chest, and closed his eyes. Teru immediately felt something warm pulsate through his body, gradually invigorating every cell and nerve within him. It felt good, like sipping on hot coffee during a cold winter day.

"What... what are you doing?" Teru asked, feeling stronger but not strong enough.

"I'm transferring a portion of my energy into yours," Sun Tzu said. "Your body has taken much damage, and I will need you to be at the peak of your prowess for the present."

The warmth continued to spread through Teru; Teru watched with half-dazed, half-stunned eyes as his cuts regenerated, as his blood seeped back into his wounds, as his bruises faded until they ceased to exist. Master Sun picked himself up and stepped a few feet away, giving his distrusting pupil some space. Teru rose to his feet, looking at his master with wary yet angry eyes.

"Explain," Teru said.

Master Sun slightly furrowed his brow in annoyance but allowed the insubordinate yet negligible command to slide. Composing himself, he gave Teru his full, undivided attention and asked, "Do you remember, Teru? Do you remember what you saw in those dreams of yours?"

"How can I not remember?" Teru snapped. "You... I... I can still hear them screaming at night! I can still hear them beg and plead for mercy when I fall asleep! I can, oh God, I can still smell the blood-"

"All of that was deliberate," Master Sun said. "I needed to prepare you, Teru. I needed you to experience the potential horror of the future before you could fulfill the heroism of your destiny."

"What?" Teru exclaimed. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What do you-"

"Didn't you ever find it strange that, even as a child enduring horrific nightmares, you would still be so fond heroes and the thought of being of a hero?" Master Sun asked. "You dreamed of yourself as a monster. Yet you never ceased to indulge yourself in stories about knights, samurai, and superheroes. Did you never find this odd?"

Teru started to answer but then fell silent. He looked away from his sensei with a miserable, knowing look.

"Could it be that you were afraid, Teru?" Master Sun asked softly. "Could it be that you thought that you were watching scenes from an irreversible future? And could it be that the reason that you pushed yourself to the limit and beyond time and time again was so that you could fight the future?"

Teru held his breath. Master Sun paused.

"Could it be that, by becoming a hero, you thought that you could redeem-" Sun Tzu started.

"You did all this so that I would become motivated?" Teru cried, now staring at The Dark Man with wide, incredulous eyes. "So that I could get good grades? So that I could go to college! So that I could dispense justice with Kira! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Master Sun Tzu sighed through his nostrils, staring at Teru with great pity. "I did not show you your future, my son," he said. "I showed you the destiny of another man."

"Who?" Teru shouted.

"... Light Yagami." Master Sun said.

A beat. A pregnant pause. A still, pensive silence.

"...no," Teru said at last. He began to walk aimlessly yet sharply, running both of his hands through his hair. The fear that he would hyperventilate paled in comparison to his terror at the thought that his master might be right. "No no no no no NO NO NO! THAT'S A LIE! THAT'S A GODDAMNED LIE! WHY ARE YOU LYING TO ME?"

"Teru-" Sun Tzu started.

"KIRA IS LAW!" Teru shouted. "ORDER! JUSTICE! THERE'S NO WAY-"

"Teru, Yagami forced you to kill Kramer!" Master Sun shouted back. "You yourself know that Kira's methods are inferior to yours! He has lied to you and he has betrayed you! Why do you continue to defend him?"

"BECAUSE HE'S MY FATHER!" Teru shouted, tears brimming in his eyes. "BECAUSE HE'S MY GOD! BECAUSE HE WAS THE ONLY ONE, OH CHRIST, HE WAS THE ONLY ONE TO EVER GIVE ME SOMETHING TO BELIEVE IN! DOESN'T THAT FUCKING MATTER AT ALL?"

"Kira has... inspired you to an extent," Master Sun admitted. "But, Teru, you must realize that he did not do that selflessly. You must understand that he did none of these things for you!"

Teru's breath became shallow and rapid. "W-why are you doing this to me?" he cried. "My life, my hopes, my dreams... you're just... you're just fucking stomping on them all! Why?"

"We must destroy what we hope to rebuild, Teru," Master Sun Tzu said. "You are no exception. You must obliterate what you once were so that you may become what you are meant to be."

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about," Teru said evasively.

"Admit it, Teru," The Dark Man continued mercilessly. "Admit what you've locked away deep down inside yourself for so long."

"Please... stop," Teru whimpered, falling to one knee, clutching his chest. A small part of his mind wondered if this would mark the first the time he ever hyperventilated.

"Admit that Kira is nothing but a vain, selfish murderer," Master Sun continued.

"No... no more", Teru said, shakily holding up one hand, beseeching his master for reprieve.

"Admit that cares nothing for you nor for the world," Sun Tzu resumed.

"... don't do this..." Teru whispered. Teeth clenched, eyes clamped, entire body rigid, the breath in his body all but non-existent, so close to the end of the tunnel, the final step so agonizing and terrifying. "...I beg of you..."

"And admit that you must kill and become Kira," The Dark Man finished.

There followed a silence that was so laden with terrifying implications and mind-bogglingly incredible repercussions that the very magnitude forced Teru to unwittingly suck in his breath and hold it. When next he spoke, he roared with such passion that he has to catch his breath afterwards.

"ARE YOU INSANE?" Teru shrieked. "KILL KIRA? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? I CAN'T MURDER KIRA LET ALONE TAKE HIS PLACE! HAVE YOU ANY IDEA-"

"I WILL HEAR NO MORE OF THIS!" Master Sun interrupted. "THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT IS AT STAKE, AND YOU MUST COWER BEFORE YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES! DO NOT ACT AS IF YOU HAD NO IDEA THAT YOU AND YAGAMI WERE TO ONE DAY CLASH! DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FOOL YOURSELF INTO BELIEVING THAT THE THOUGHT NEVER OCCURRED TO YOU!

"Oh, oh God, this can't be happening..." Teru muttered, looking both wild and confused, like a bobcat caught in a cage. "This can't... I... I..."

The Dark Man gritted his teeth. This wasn't going the way he wanted it to. Perhaps another means of rhetoric would suffice.

"Do you not recall the teachings of Laozi, Teru?" Sun Tzu asked in a firm, but less severe voice.

"Master Laozi?" Teru asked. The thought of the kind, wise old man settled him down a bit. "Of the 4th century B.C.E.? What does he have to do with any of this?"

"Laozi was naïve to believe that humankind could save itself!" Sun-Tzu declared. "And the world was foolish to not heed his wisdom! Is it no wonder that China was thrust into civil war less than two hundreds years after his death, the flames of chaos flaring so brightly that King Helu and I used everything in our power in order to maintain order? Laozi told them of the Tao! He taught them the yin-yang! He spoke of how good cannot exist without evil, how evil cannot exist without good! He was honest and trusting enough to tell all who would listen that the universe exists as a balance, neither yin nor yang dominant! He emphasized time and time again the great significance of humility and simplicity! He said to them that it was possible to achieve _wu wei_, the state of freedom from desires! Yet look at the world today! Humanity is killing itself, Teru! There are weapons now with even more power than we, the ancient masters and philosophers of state, war, and science, could have imagined! In their frantic lust for privileges and advancements, the people have allowed their home, their sole planet, to become afflicted with no worse than a terminal disease!"

"I know that!" Teru protested. "I know that the world is an extremely precarious position! I know now and I knew then that humanity could no longer be trusted to rule itself! Why else do you think I supported Kira so fervently?"

"As I thought, you have misunderstood me," Sun-Tzu said. "I do not accuse you of not seeing the world as it is, my young pupil. I accuse you of not taking the proper course of action! I accuse you of cowardice! I accuse you of not seizing your destiny!"

"What?" Teru asked, flabbergasted.

"Yagami, that treacherous and insular cur, is still Kira!" Sun-Tzu shouted. "Why have you not yet usurped him? Why are you not yet Kira?"

"DAMNIT, BECAUSE I CAN'T!" Teru screamed. "BECAUSE I'M JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THAT!"

"FOOL!" Sun-Tzu yelled, even louder than Teru. "DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHAT I TAUGHT YOU? ALL WARFARE IS BASED ON DECEPTION! YOUR WEAKNESS, YOUR CHILDISH REFUSAL TO CARRY OUT YOUR DUTIES HAS PREVENTED YOU FROM RECALLING THIS MOST CONSPICUOUS OF FACTS! DID I NOT TEACH YOU THAT WHEN YOUR STRENGTH IS EQUAL TO THAT OF YOUR ENEMY THAT YOU MUST ENGAGE HIM? DID NOT RYUK HIMSELF EXPLICITLY TELL YOU THAT YOU AND YAGAMI ARE SO MUCH ALIKE?"

Teru's master loomed as he rebuked his pupil. The seemingly increasing height and the definitely raised voice frightened Teru and tamed his frustration. Now he was beginning to feel abashed and ashamed.

"But... but..." Teru said in a quieter, meeker voice, trying to come up with some excuse that could redeem his inactions.

"No buts!" Sun-Tzu snapped, somewhat quieter in accord with his student's decreased volume, yet still fierce all the same. "You sound and act like a child who, upon realizing that he is incorrect, resorts to coming up with any excuse that he can in order to save face! Pathetic!"

"Then tell me what to do!" Teru cried. "Tell me how to overcome Kira! Tell me how to become God! Tell me how to become a hero!"

"Start by not listening to the lies that you tell yourself!" Master Sun barked. "Start by admitting that you can defeat Kira, that you must defeat Kira, that you are the only one with the brilliance and the skills needed to bring order back to this world! I have told you this time and time again: subtle and insubstantial, the expert leaves no trace! Divinely mysterious, he is inaudible! Thus, he is a master of his enemy's fate! Your refusal to face the truth has only prevented you-"

A wet, loud, and mushy sound interrupted Master Sun and filled the cave with a series of slushy echoes that stilled Teru's breath. Every brain cell in Teru's brain told him not to look at the direction of the noise, tried to convince him that he could still leave this phantasmic den with his sanity intact if only he fled, screamed shrilly that all would be lost if he turned his head even one inch in the direction of the skin-crawling noise.

"I wish we had had more time to speak," Master Sun said. "I could have given you advice. I could have still taught you something, anything to aid you in this time of trial and suffering. But I'm afraid all I can do is wish you luck during this, your last test."

"What... what are you talking about now?" Teru said, becoming increasingly nervous,his reason screaming at him not to look at the source of the sickeningly mushy sounds. "The dragon... you killed it."

The Dark Man turned to look at Teru, and this time, his look was much less severe and much more apologetic. "I'm afraid I only killed its weaker, initial form." he said. "I'm sorry that this must fall on you, my son."

Teru ignored his sense of reason and turned to the direction of the sickeningly pulpy sounds.

"But you must slay the true dragon," Teru heard Sun Tzu say.

Teru immediately regretted giving into his curiosity.

A bloody human hand was sticking out of the stomach of the dragon. And whoever the hand belonged to, its motion made it clear that it's owner was very much alive.

With ever increasing horror, Teru watched, impotent, powerless, and small, as the hand reached out further and elongated into an arm. That arm, just as bloody as the hand, was soon accompanied by another hand that soon repeated the same reprobate process. The tightly skinned hands gripped the fringes of the fleshly hole they had made and then pulled the connected body up and out of the dragon entirely.

What came out of the dragon was humanoid in form. However, if it was truly human, then it was still somehow even worse than the beast that had spawned it.

It had landed naked on one foot and one knee, one palm pressed against the ground and the other raised upward. It wore a kimono whose original color was all but impossible to know at the present, for this new figure was completely drenched in the all too familiar red and black fluid combination of plasma, blood cells, and platelets. Its head was bowed. Two wings, whose familiarity made Teru give a small moan, sprawled proudly in the air. One wing was covered in blood. The other was too black to be replaced by any color, no matter how dynamic or violent it was. The hair of the bowed head was brown, but in the presence of the cave it took on a brighter, redder hue, as if the cave was funneling all of its demonic energy into this single, crouching figure.

For what felt like eons but was really no more than about fifteen or twenty second, no one spoke and no one moved. Then the head lifted itself up to look at Teru and The Dark Man, and Teru knew then that this was the nightmare that he should have been fearing his entire life.

_No, you fool! You'll kill us all!_

_Don't you see, doctor? We belong dead!_

"I'M BACK, BITCHES!" Kira roared, his grin demented, his eyes wide and shining with an uncontrollable thirst for destruction, looking much like a fallen angel who has realized his eternal place in Hell but has come to love it. "DID YOU MISS ME?"

Teru would never quite know what his reaction to this unexpected turn of events would be. How exactly did one react to the sight of seeing one's ex-lord and savior bursting out of the corpse of a dragon, bathed in crimson, looking like an angel gone stark raving mad? Teru later suspected that he would have shouted something generic like "JESUS FUCKIN' WEPT!" or "CHRIST ON HIS THRONE, NO!". Maybe he would have even stood there dumbly and stupefied, gaping like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Whether any of this would ever have happened would remain unknown; what would be known was that Kira threw both of his wrists forward and that Teru was able to see, almost in slow motion, two narrow blades connected to thin chains shoot out of slits in Kira's wrists. Teru was responsive enough to leap out of harm's way, and Master Sun ran against the now-screaming wall of the damned like some hero in a _wuxia _ movie. Sand was kicked up from the ground, not enough to blind Teru, but enough to surround him momentarily; he was able to observe that the blades left left deep grooves in the ground, and it didn't take him too long to deduce that if any of the blades hit any part of his body, then it would go through as easily as a hot knife cutting through butter.

"OH, YOU SNEAKY LITTLE NINJA BITCH!" Kira roared with delight from beyond the mist of sand. "I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO MAKE THIS FUN FOR ME!"

Teru, his sympathetic nervous system now operating at full throttle, jerked his head to and fro, looking for something, for anything he could use to defend himself against his demented foe. The dao swords were still with Master Sun... the guns were empty... facing Kira in hand to hand combat could work, but Kira would undoubtedly have the advantage in long-distance fighting, and even then there was no guarantee that Kira wouldn't be able to toss Teru aside like a rag doll.

Shit! Teru thought with gritted teeth. If there was only some way I could close the distance with him and-

From out of the corner of his eye, cold, glinting steel shot towards Teru; Teru, as before, managed to dodge it, quickly leaping out of the way. The mist of sand was falling, and Teru was able to make out Kira's outline, something that was either a demon from Heaven or an angel from Hell.

"OH, C'MON, KID!" Kira screamed with conspicuous pleasure; the man could have been having an orgasm for all Teru knew. "I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOME FIGHT LEFT IN YOU! DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING NOW!"

"TERU!" A voice bellowed to Teru's right. Teru turned and saw another outline heading his way, only this outline gradually filled in until Teru could tell that it was Sun Tzu who was dashing frantically towards him. "CATCH!"

Two small objects were thrown Teru's way. Simultaneously, The Dark Man leaped backwards and Kira shot another round of blades towards Teru. The world now almost moved in slow motion for Teru. As the objects came closer towards Teru's hands, he began to wonder what they could be, what diminutive weapons could have against someone as powerful as Kira.

Two black pens landed in Teru's hands.

Pens? Teru incredulously thought for a second. What the fuck am I supposed to do with-

A childhood memory unfolded instantly for Teru, as if the touch of the pens sliding into his hands had activated a recollection hidden within the vast recesses of his consciousness. It had been years ago when Teru was but a young boy, six, seven, maybe even eight years old. His class had taken a summer trip to London, where Teru and his classmates had studied English and learned about the history and culture of England. Teru had found the entire experience to be fascinating despite the perpetually damp and dismal weather. Walking through Whitechapel, he had half-listened to the teacher explain the life of Joseph Merrick, better known as the Elephant Man (Teru glowered while he listened to this lecture; justice dictated that the Elephant Man be treated fairly and that his tormentors be punished severely) while his peers laughingly yet cautiously whispered about how someone named "Jack" had apparently slain a number of "dirty women" in the area (And why not? Teru thought. Murder was wrong, but if the world was a better place for it, well...).

_Did you know, Mr. Merrick?_

_Doh wot, Mista Gull?_

On a street named Pudding Lane, Teru had learned about the Great Fire of London and all the terrible damage it had wrought, destroying much of the city (But it must have looked very pretty, Teru thought. Like a nice big campfire to burn all the trash of the world in...).

_In India, you would be seen as the reincarnation of Ganesha. You would be worshiped as a god._

… _a gud? _

However, a single occasion had stood out in his mind, had defined the eminence of his experience. Teru and the rest had seen a play by the name of _Richelieu: or__, The Conspiracy_ at London's historic Hamnet's Theater. And while some of the material of the nineteenth century play went over young Teru's head (most of it went over his peers and even his teacher's heads), he could not deny that he gained a rare type of excitement from the lavishly decorated theater and from the impeccable performance. This, Teru thought, this is what the rest of the world should be like: dignified, beautiful, and, above all, functional.

_A gud... _

Despite it being one of the best days of his life, the inevitable wear and tear of the human mind gradually dissolved most of Teru's memories surrounding London, the play, and the theater. However, there was a single line from that play, that stood out in his mind, one that he thought of practically everyday, one that had endured strongly for over a decade.

Teru noticed with a strange calmness that the blades were only a few feet from his skull.

The line?

Now only a few inches.

"The pen is mightier than the sword," Teru said.

Less than an inch.

Something clicked within Teru's soul and an energy that was both alien and welcome surged through him. With a roar that encapsulated all of the sorrow, all of the fury, and all of the disappointments in his life, Teru faced the blades head on, swinging both pens. Only, when Teru swung the pens in front of his face, they had ceased to be mere writing utensils. Like Teru, they had transfigured into something far greater than they were before.

The pens had become black Arabian scimitar swords.

How the pens had morphed, Teru did not know and did not care. What he did care about and know was that this farce of a play had run on too long and that it was time to bring the curtains down.

Roaring, Teru's scimitars countered Kira's blades with incredible force, sending them soaring off in different directions.

"Wrong," Teru growled furiously. "The pen is my sword!"

And with that exclamation, with that sensation of righteous ire, and with the simple but potent feeling that this was all simply right, Teru leaped into the fray.

"Heh," Kira smirked as he recalled his blades. "I knew there was a reason I got out of bed today!"

Kira, grinning smugly at the knowledge that the fight was about to get much more interesting, accelerated his attacks. Teru responded likewise, moving like an acrobat on speed, leaping, flipping, and twirling over the chains and parrying the blades. As he did so, Teru's mind rapidly tried to form together a strategy that would enable more than just defense. With those chained blades, Kira was a long-distance fighter, but Teru had his own weapons now, so if he could get in close enough...

With a plan in mind and only a few meters away from Kira, Teru waited for both blades to race towards him and then deflected them with all his might. As he predicted, the blades zoomed away and Kira immediately went to work summoning them, leaving him completely vulnerable as he did so. Teru rushed in on Kira, both swords swinging, now only mere inches from his unarmed foe. As the scimitar closed in on Kira's face, Teru wondered with some confusion why Kira's arrogant and twisted smirk suddenly widened and why the glitter in his eyes abruptedly shone with sadistic delight.

With speed that Teru could scarcely believe, Kira dashed backwards, still in close proximity but free from the swing of the blades, and kicked his foot straight upwards. The foot collided underneath Teru's chin, and Teru would have probably marveled at Kira's uncanny flexibility if not for the fact that it felt like a sledgehammer had struck his jaw.

The incredible impact knocked Teru off his feet; the force was so great that instead of causing Teru to crash onto his back, he involuntarily backflipped, landing hard on his stomach. How he managed to hold on to both swords, Teru didn't know, but he couldn't stop himself from letting out an audible _Gah! _from the intense pain.

"Well, well," Teru could hear Kira snicker along with the sound of a rattling chain, "The dog has some bite after all."

A high-pitched whistle sound rocketed its way towards Teru's head. Relying purely on instinct, Teru rapidly rolled out of the way and heard what could only have been one of Kira's blades strike the earth. The second blade, whistling shrilly with alarming velocity, charged at Teru; Teru, disabling his mind and allowing his body to think for him, jumped headfirst into the ground and then used his straining neck to flip to his feet. This blade was only a few inches from Teru before he again countered it, again sending both chain and blade in the opposite direction.

Once again, Kira was left exposed, only this time, the blades were farther away from before, giving Teru enough time to attack before Kira could whip them around again. Teru charged, and the blades attempted to speedily return to their master. It became a race between Teru and the blades to reach Kira, but even if the blades did return to Kira at approximately the same time Teru did, Kira would still need more time to use the weapons. And as Teru was now well aware that Kira could do more than just swing his blades, he felt confident that he could doge whatever attack Kira threw at him and strike him down. Teru could still win this thing!

Teru slashed his swords, hoping to finally see the blood flow, the flesh flayed, but most of all, the gratifying sight of Kira's eyes widening in horror at the realization of of his imminent and (hopefully) excruciating death.

Instead, Teru heard a metallic _clang _and nearly dropped his own scimitars in shock when he realized that not only had he not managed to slay Kira, but that he was now pressing his own swords against Kira's blades, jockeying for position.

"But in the end, that's all you are, isn't it?" Kira grinned. Teru's eyes were astonished, but they were rational enough to quickly scan over Kira to see how he was holding the blades. He found the reason for this oddity in weaponry fairly quickly: the blades had hilts, but they had no handles. Thus, not only could they slip in and out of Kira's wrists as easily as they pleased, but Kira could also wield them like regular swords. And right now, Kira was using those swords in order to involve Teru and him into a test of strength.

Not surprisingly (or at least Teru thought so) Kira gradually overcame Teru. Teru, who was plenty strong, hung with the parrying longer than your average man could, but Kira was ultimately too strong for him in this regard. Teru hissed, steeling his legs as best as he could the legs becoming wobblier and weaker nonetheless. Kira continued to smirk as he forced Teru to bend his spine backwards.

With a quick, precise jerk of his foot, Kira moved his foot behind one of Teru's and slammed him down to the ground. Teru had leg swept classmates and had been leg swept by classmates in dojos before, but he couldn't quite recall it ever feeling like a 2X4 breaking his spine's thoracic curve. Even worse, the impact had forced Teru's to drop his own swords.

"Just a goddamn dog!" Kira shouted gleefully, raising one sword to deliver the coup de grace.

Teru grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into Kira's face.

The effects were immediate and, had Teru not been pulling out all the stops to defend his own life, reasonably comedic. "YOU CHEATING LITTLE SHIT!" Kira roared, desperately attempting to rub the sand out of his eyes with balled-up fists, his chains and blades dangling uselessly like forgotten bait and tackle gear. "YOU ARE SO FUCKING DEAD!"

Teru managed to get to his feet and catch his breath shakily while Kira continued to rant and rave. "YOU THINK YOU PULLED A FAST ONE ON ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH?" Kira bellowed. "I DON'T NEED TO SEE YOU TO KILL YOU, DICKWAD!"

But apparently Kira did need to see Teru in order to kill him because the next was blade that the blinded Kira threw was both slower and sloppier. Despite being significantly weakened, Teru knew an opportunity when he saw it, and he ran parallel to the chain in the opposite direction, grabbing the chain as he did so. Now right by Kira's side, Teru rapidly wrapped the chain around Kira's neck and pulled as he could, intending to choke the life out of him.

"I swear... you are gonna pay for this," Kira hissed gutturally, hands frantically clawing at the binding chain.

"Fuck you," Teru hissed back, working virtually every muscle in his body to hold Kira in place.

For a few moments, it seemed like Teru was going to be able to successfully choke out his arch-nemesis. He held on as tight as he could, not caring that he had played dirty, apathetic that his victory would be a tainted one. All that mattered now was that Teru had Kira where he wanted him and that, in just a few more seconds, Kira would be no more.

That was the last thing Teru thought before Kira front flipped, bringing Teru into the air with him.

Teru landed on his back once more, this time with Kira's extra weight colliding into him, knocking all the breath out of him. Teru gasped for air, and for his efforts his face was bludgeoned in several times by Kira's elbow. Teru held on as long as he could, but as the elbow rammed into his skull, knocking brain cells to and fro, time seemed to drag on extra slowly and Teru could feel his will rapidly diminishing. Still, Teru thought that he could endure the blows of the elbow so long as-

Kira butted the back of his head against Teru's face, effectively cutting off his thought. The latter released his enemy, every nerve in his facial skin seemingly on fire.

Kira picked himself up to his now wobbly feet, coughing, hacking, and then finally spitting some blood out. Teru was somewhat gratified by the sight of Kira actually beginning to look tired: there were red indentations circling around his neck, his eyes had turned bloodshot, and blood was trailing out of his nose.

"Fucked... yourself good, boy," Teru could hear Kira mutter, trying to force his hands to stop shaking to the point where he could wield his blades without dropping them. "You've just bought yourself... a one-way ticket to Hell."

As quietly as he could, but not without a faint hiss of pain as he began to wade through a sea of searing agony, Teru climbed to his feet. Still as quietly as he could, Teru began to approach Kira. Eventually, when he was close enough, he charged at Kira, hoping to take him by surprise with a flying Tae Kwon Do kick. The idea that Kira could defend himself from this kind of offense after having his brain deprived of oxygen for a dangerous amount of time were slim at best.

"I AM HELL, YOU-" Teru started, aiming his foot right at Kira's head.

Kira grabbed Teru in mid-motion, tossed him over his shoulders, and then fireman carried against the wall of the living dead. Teru heard something break, and he wasn't sure whether it was his spine again or one of the wailing faces.

"Oh, you just don't get it, do you?" Kira barked. He no longer possessed that vicious smile of his, the smug arrogance that came with knowing that one was indestructible and that the time of the killing was nigh at hand. What he now wore was something else entirely: a rabid, infuriated grimace that could have only come from the type of person who had just discovered that he was not quite as invincible as he cared to believe and who did not take kindly to said newfound discovery. Teru, in a stupor that superseded even the worst of his hangovers, thought that he preferred that the former look. "I'm the father! You're the son! You'll always be at my beck and call! You'll always end up groveling at my feet!"

Teru lifted himself to his feet, the world tilting to and fro as he did so; he did his best to get his bearings straight. It felt like hell just to stand straight, but he forced himself to endure, using the sight of that irate madman with his red, glaring eyes to help give him the strength that he needed. It simply couldn't end this way. Not with what Teru had gone through. Not with what he now knew. Not with what he now knew that he had to do.

"SAY GOODNIGHT, GRACIE!" Kira roared, shooting both of his chains and blades once more, aimed directly at Teru.

The world seemed to move in slow motion once more. Teru stared at the oncoming blades passively, not fretting, knowing that he would have to do something, but that he would inevitably do it. He now only needed the means to-

Teru, in the midst of his search for tactical salvation, glanced downwards. There, on the ground, in-between he and Kira, were his scimitars. Kira's blades were fast approaching, but they hadn't moved over Teru's swords quite yet.

A series of physics and algorithmic equations flashed through Teru's mind. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. It was the kind of ludicrous thing that you would find in inane action movies and brain-dead video games. It simply couldn't be done.

Still... it was his dream.

Not knowing whether it would work but knowing that it was indeed his only option, Teru ran towards the blades with all the speed that his feet could muster, grinding his teeth together in an effort to subdue the incendiary pain that wracked his body. The blades were nearing the scimitars, but Teru was closer. He grabbed the swords a second before the blades could dice him into confetti and jumped up, landing on one chain and continuing to run toward Kira.

"The hell..." Kira began, taken aback by Teru's unpredicted devil-may-care maneuver. Kira's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Teru had in mind. "NO!" He cried, recalling his chains as fast as he could.

"Yes," Teru growled, arriving in front of Kira, swinging both blades downwards and then upwards, slicing off Kira's hands, and then launching himself into the air, all without a single break in the chain of actions. Teru flipped in the air before quickly determining the correct distance and, then, screaming, "GOODNIGHT, GRACIE!" threw himself into Kira's upper chest scimitars first, driving him back several feet, Kira backpedaling hastily, trying to keep his balance.

Eventually, the force of Teru's tackle wore itself out, and the two ceased their fighting. The scimitars had pierced Kira's chest, and Teru let the swords rest there, holding onto his hilts, panting in exhaustion.

Kira, for his part, was still somehow standing, albeit handless and powerless.

Despite the fact that Kira had been mortally wounded, he half chuckled and half grunted, while Teru tried to catch his breath. Kira hacked, and specks of blood fell on Teru's clothes and face; Teru was too tired to care. Besides, it looked as if Kira was internally bleeding, which meant that he didn't have that long to live unless he received immediate medical attention (and Teru was going to make sure that that sure as hell didn't happen). Kira, now visibly shaking, continued to snicker. The man was going into shock but acted as if he was listening to a Richard Pryor tape.

"Y-you know," Kira stuttered, but with a smug, victorious grin nonetheless, "You may have succeeded here, but at the end of the day, this is all just a d-dream, 'boy'. Hell, you can do anything in the Dreaming, can't you? If you wanted, you could abort the Nazarene with a coat h-hanger from his two dollar whore of a mother. But outside the Dreaming? In the real world? You won't stand a c-chance against me."

Kira's eyes were dying, yet they burned with malignant effulgence as they bore into Teru's. "W-word of advice 'son'," Kira chuckled. "When you meet the r-real me, don't bother to beg for mercy. I-I assume y-you're competent enough to blow your own b-brains out."

Teru closed his eyes and inhaled, doing his best to interiorize and endure the bitter, acrid, pain coursing through his body. He exhaled. And when he reopened his eyes, they had turned flaming red once more, openly challenging Kira's evil eyes.

"Thanks," Teru simply said.

"T-thanks?" Kira asked, his grin faltering. "F-for what, you g-goddamn fool?"

"For giving me the opportunity to execute the greatest elimination of them all," Teru replied, his face leaning into Kira's so that they were only inches apart, not out of intimate familial love, but of of intimate enmity, the kind that only true blood enemies could know. "The elimination of God."

Kira's blank face soon gave way to a twisted grin, and he threw his head back, laughing like a loon with a dire need for anti-psychotics. "Oh, this is too fucking rich!" Kira roared, apparently not too mindful of the blood that was starting to fly out of his mouth. "It's just like they say, isn't it, 'junior'? Like father-"

Teru bellowed, invoking all the energy and hatred that he had left in his body and slashed his swords upwards, from Kira's upper chest to above his shoulders. And in that same moment of graceful yet malicious aggression, Teru reversed the direction of each scimitar, forcing the right blade to turn left and the left blade to turn right.

Kira continued to holler with raucous laughter until both blades severed his head from his neck and sliced his wings in half. Blood shot out of the stump of Kira's neck like a vampiric fountain.

"Like son" Teru finished, with a curled nose and sneer, walking away from the corpse of what had been his father.

Teru walked toward The Dark Man with an hitherto unknown sense of stoic discipline. His eyes had lost their wide-eyed incredulous panic; they had narrowed into a state which strongly suggested determination, callousness, and disgust. His mouth, so used to trembling in despair and so used to being clenched in frustration, was now upturned into a casual sneer. Teru's clothes had now become even bloodier than before, now covering most of his once white clothing with the red stuff of life. He did not seem to mind this much, if not at all. His body still felt like crap, but the adrenaline in his body was still active and helped distance it from himself.

Teru had just killed his god in his dream. This was highly significant even if it did take place only in the Dreaming and not in the "real" world. It meant that Teru had passed his final test. It confirmed that Teru was able to eliminate Light, and that, incredibly enough, there was even more potential for him to grow. The tide now roared in Teru's favor. There was a chance now, a large chance, that Teru could actually become Kira.

Still, Teru did not so much look like a man who had just massacred another man who had somehow leaped forth from the carcass of an enormous dragon. Teru looked more like a man who had just emptied a particularly rancid smelling load of garbage.

Teru turned and walked away from the beheaded corpse of Kira and toward Master Sun Tzu. He cracked his neck nonchalantly and only grumbled when he noticed that the soles of his bare feet were caked with sand and dried blood.

"It may be difficult to believe," Sun-Tzu said as Teru approached, "but his kind were once common back in the time when gods lived among men eons ago. And because there were so many arrogant and unscrupulous gods, there were always wars between the divinities who wished to rule Earth."

"Who won these wars?" Teru asked, shaking the blood off the blade, not even miffed by Master Sun's revelation. Teru supposed that things like killing dragons tended to make outrageous events seem less so.

"Sometimes, the right gods won." Sun-Tzu said. "Sometimes, the wrong gods won. However, these victories and losses meant very little compared with just how many there were and just how much destruction they caused. Thankfully, most of the gods were aware of just how little their petty squabbles were accomplishing and just how much they were ruining everything that they wanted to conquer. Eventually, Shiva, Odin, Jupiter, and all the rest realized that the only way to ensure satisfaction for all parties was to compromise, was to adhere to a truce. This is why most of the gods do not communicate today with humans as they once did. The gods have taken refuge in their palaces, their heavens, and their underworlds, and they control what provinces they own behind closed doors. Formal worship by the humans are enough to satiate their egos."

_Thousands of years ago, before the dawn of man as we knew him, there was Sir Santa of Claus, an ape-like creature making crude and pointless toys out of dinobones and his own waste, hurling them at chimp-like creatures with crinkled hands regardless of how they behaved the previous year. These so-called "toys" were buried as witches, and defecated upon, and hurled at predators when wakened by the searing grunts of children. It wasn't a holly jolly Christmas that year. For many were killed. _

"This truce doesn't seemed to have helped much," Teru remarked.

"No," Sun-Tzu said. "It did help, but only for some time. The wars that were waged long ago simply cannot compare with the destructive potential that the current wars possess. In the past, it was the gods of war who frequently tossed their matches into the puddles of oil, enabling and encouraging one war after the next. It was rationalized that it would be unfair to deny these gods the explosions and suffering that they were born to create and exhort, so such gods were allowed to permitted to begin the Fall of Troy, the Persian-Greek War, and all the many civil wars that your own country has endured."

"...if the gods wanted humanity and Earth to survive," Teru thought aloud, "then they couldn't have known the magnitude of man's potential for pandemonium."

"Correct, my astute disciple," Sun-Tzu said in a subtly kinder, prouder voice. "The gods failed to carry out the rest of the stratagems that would have not just guaranteed humanity's survival, but it's thriving as well."

"Which is what?" Teru asked. He held out the sword to Sun-Tzu having made it as bloodless as he could, intending to give it back to its rightful owner. However, the master turned away from the sight of the sword and continued to walk and stroke his long beard in thought.

"In the stead of several gods, there should have been selected one flawless and perfect deity to rule the planet," Sun-Tzu said. "Laozi was correct about one thing: the people must be kept ignorant if the state is to survive! They should have been told that there was only one true god in all of existence, that this god was a benevolent force who controlled all things, who was all things!"

"There are those who believe that," Teru replied.

"Who? The Christians?" Lao-Tzu asked. "The Jews? The Muslims? They hate one another! They murder one another! The only thing that they can all agree on is that if one disagrees with another, then that is just cause for persecution and genocide! They who worship the same god fight unceasingly in Israel and vehemently condemn anyone who would hope to solve the conflict! And the Christians? They allow and encourage such foolish warfare to continue on in the sacred birth place of their messiah!"

"Then why should the gods have told everyone that there is only one god?" Teru asked, confused.

"You are right in not fully understanding my point, Teru," Sun-Tzu said, "for I have not told you what else the gods should have done with this one seemingly omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient being."

"What?" Teru asked.

"The god should have co-existed with the humans!" Sun-Tzu proclaimed. "It should have directed them! It should have told them what to do and when to do it! It should have controlled their lives so that they realized the best of themselves instead of becoming the foolish and brutal animals that they are today! One god to rule them all, Teru! One god to rule them all! Tell me, Teru," Sun-Tzu said, suddenly switching gears, "do you know how it is that proponents of similar faiths and beliefs may declared each other to be friends and family one moment, yet do them wrong with irredeemable crimes and transgressions the next?"

"...because they're human," Teru answered, not knowing if this was the right answer or not, but sensing that it was.

"Precisely," Sun-Tzu remarked. "Because they are human. Because they are the greatest paradox in all of existence! Computers cannot compete with the potential of their minds, yet their behavior is thoroughly foolish if not hopelessly idiotic! They create advanced technology, yet they do not create advanced individuals! They have the power, skills, and potential to improve themselves and the world, yet they neither know how to do it nor are they willing to make the sacrifices necessary for such progress! They are sheep, Teru, they are sheep who stand idly by as the world changes around them, waiting for someone greater than they to herd them into the right direction! They are sheep! 

"And I?" Teru asked calmly.

Sun-Tzu stopped and gave Teru his full attention. Teru reciprocated in kind and understood that whatever his master was about to say next was of the most paramount importance.

"You are, and always have been, my greatest student," Sun-Tzu said. "Despite your errors and your disgraces, you have always been the most diligent, sincere, and talented of all that I have taught. And so, if you are of the notion that I include you among the sheep, then you could not be more wrong."

Sun-Tzu paused, tapping his chin in thought while Teru watched him. Teru acted passive and cool, but inside his heart was racing, fueled by the incredible compliments that he had never thought that his master would give him.

"If my grasping of Christian iconography is correct," Sun-Tzu resumed, "then you are the Shepard."

Teru's breath stuck in his throat for a moment, but did not release it into a roar like previously. Instead, he deliberately eased himself and exhaled.

"The Shepard," Sun-Tzu repeated. "The integral strategy that the gods overlooked: a lord of hosts in direct communication with the people. And it is this Shepherd, this Messiah, who must save and control the world."

"By overthrowing Kira," Teru said.

Master Sun clasped Teru on his shoulder, a faint but proud smile etched upon his lips. "You are ready, my son. This world needs a hero, and I can think of no better man for that role."

"I will not fail you, my master," Teru said, looking as sombre as he could, but still close to becoming emotional. "I shall not rest until Kira falls at my hands."

Master Sun Tzu paused for a moment but then pulled a surprised Teru into a hug. Teru stiffened at first, not used to such close contact, but eventually relaxed. It didn't feel awkward like he thought it would.

It felt like the sort of hug a father should give his son.

Sun Tzu pulled away and then pointed towards the hallway of the cave's entrance. Teru had tears of joy brimming in his eyes, and his smile was a genuinely grateful one. "It is time," The Dark Man said. "The Dreaming is dissolving; you have spent all the time that you can here, and you are now ready to leave. Go back the way you came, and you will return to your home. And when you do that, go and find your father."

Teru and Master Sun bowed as students and masters do, and Teru felt significantly different when he turned around and walked toward the newly created exit. For most of his life, Teru had walked around as if chained and shackled, always a great weight on his shoulders. Teru had made no mistakes realizing what that terrible burden was: it was everything that he possessed and everything everyone else lacked. History. Literature. Psychology. Quantum Physics. Misanthropy of the most staggeringly stressful and virulent variety. And while this cross upon his shoulders did help Teru get ahead in life, while it did result in plenty of money, prestige, and power that he could use to eliminate the degenerate filth from his world, it always felt like those things had come at a cost, that his part of the bargain was to wear his crown of thorns while he watched humanity gradually self-destruct. And for quite a while, Teru suspected that this egregious weight on his soul would never disappear.

With the death of the Dragon Kira, that weight had been lifted. Teru began to ran towards the exit, imagining the locks, manacles, and restraints gradually falling from his body. He ran and ran, a bird released from its cage, a man who had been cured of the thick black tar embedded deep in his heart, a pilgrim who had conquered the nightmare city that lay within his soul.

For the first time in his life, Teru Mikami felt truly free.

In just a few minutes, Teru reached the past entrance and present exit of the cave. The cave's mouth had reopened, but the Wasteland no longer lied beyond the confines of the cave. Instead, everything had become an ethereal world of white. There were no boundaries. There were no limits. There was only infinity, pure, merciful, untainted infinity.

Teru ran out into the white and prepared to meet his destiny.

_I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time... like tears in rain... _

_Time to die. _

* * *

After Teru had left the cave, Master Sun Tzu sighed in relief, and cracked his fingers and body in a peculiar, limber, feline fashion. Slaying the dragon had been easy enough (it and 'Kira', were after all, only Brute and Glob in disguise, those petty nightmares who would have done anything to escape the darkness that Dream had condemned them to); memorizing that bullshit story and improvising for the insane bastard on top of everything else proved to be more challenging than he was used to. That Dream, who undoubtedly could have easily overpowered both Flagg and Sun-Tzu as well as eject Teru out of his realm, had not appeared was another boon from the quick fingers and spells of the Walkin' Dude. Flagg had more than done his part, and Master Sun had to admit that he was impressed; sure, he was more than familiar with alchemy, but the fact that Flagg was able to create a type of magic that limited Teru's perception so that he could only see Kira the way he feared him he most... well, that was mighty innovative, that it was.

And, Christ, if the lunatic had paid more attention that that _Stand_ book, he would have realized that Flagg was The Dark Man.

Master Sun's look of relief gradually turned into a malevolent, razor-sharp smirk.

"Heh, I deserve an Oscar for this shit," Sun Tzu said to himself in a new, huskier voice.

From the bottom to the top, a wave coursed over Master Sun, radically changing his appearance. What had been a trim body of scars with a healthy color gradually morphed into a pale, lean, slightly muscular physique. What had been Chinese armor from eons past gave way to toe-less, heel-less socks, a skort, gloves that ran up to the middle of the forearm and cut at the knuckles to show the fingers, and, at the top, a tight, modified belly shirt that showed off most of his ripped stomach and his arms. All of the clothes were black. Finally, what had been long, crow-like hair with flipped out ends eventually turned into dark-green, sharp, lengthy, dreadlock like hair. Below that hair, on the forehead, laid a black headband showing a strange upside down red triangle whose corners were circles. Finally, the eyes, once dark and brooding turned into a cruel, dark shade of purple but with a glint that shone like a knife submerged in darkness.

"Wow, Flagg was right," Envy the homunculus snickered. "That crazy fucker may be a genius, but he's gullible as hell."

Envy stared at the corpse of the dragon and of "Kira", wondering what to do next. His part of the bargain was complete for now, and all he really had to do now was wait until the lunatic was able to open the gate again. Only, this time, like Flagg promised, it would be an entirely new gate, something not yet seen in Creation, something that hadn't even been imagined yet. No more homunculi, no more Philosophers' Stone, and no more goddamn equivalent exchange. The rules had all changed, and with Teru in their hands, it-

An explosion sounded behind Envy and to the top of the cave. The faces, incredibly enough, held their silence. Envy, not at all surprised by this abrupt entrance, turned around still wearing his murderous grin. It was about fucking time that the loser queers finally made their appearance.

"TERU MIKAMI!" A voice shouted out from above, excitement and anxiety evident from its tone. A figure with wings lowered itself into the newly created hole and then another identical figure followed suit and hovered downwards. The two could have been twins, and, for all Envy knew, they probably were. The one who was shouting wore a loose toga; the other one was stark named and didn't seem to mind it much. They both possessed long, curly, blond hair, blue eyes, halos that hovered over their heads, and enormous white wings that sprouted from their backs. "We, the servants of the All-Father, demand your presence! The envious one lies in order to advance his own agenda! Come forward and-"

Now in mid-air, the loud angel's face immediately changed gears; he stopped shouting and instead curled his lips into a resentful sneer, as if he had just witnessed a lynching. Envy continued to smirk like a murderer who made it into the Guinness World Records. The other angel continued to stare, unperturbed.

"You," Remiel the angel growled, landing on the ground.

"Me," Envy grinned.

"Where is he, homunculus?" Remiel said. The other angel, Duma, continued his silence, but began to look a little more worried when he failed to detect Teru's presence. "Where is the son of the Kira?"

"Well, I couldn't rightly tell you," Envy grinned while Remiel gave him a slow, smoldering glare, "But my guess is that the psychopath's gone on back to Earth. I'm sure I have no idea what he plans to do there (Envy's grin widened), but knowing him I'm sure it'll be something... 'constructive'."

Remiel nearly took the name of his lord in vain, and Duma scratched the back of his neck with a faint trace of nervousness. Not only would Father be angered by their inability to capture Mikami, but tensions were already steadily rising among the underworld's elites, each vying for the chance to possess the Death Note and Mikami's soul. If any of them were to successfully acquire the two...

Remiel shook his head, dismissing the worst case scenario. The best he could do now was to deal with the demented beast himself. However, intimidation would not even faze Envy; Remiel decided to peruse a different course of action.

"How did you escape Hell, homunculus? Remiel demanded.

It wasn't that difficult, to tell you the truth," Envy smirked. "Security just hasn't been the same since Lucifer decided to kick it in L.A."

"Is that so?" Remiel asked, not allowing his ire to grow at the mention of the Morningstar. "And what makes you think that we cannot persuade Hell's guards and wardens to take special means in order to procure your guaranteed incarceration? We have done it before and will gladly do so again."

Envy laughed, the smirk becoming even more vicious. "You two dipshits already know that I figured out the secret to getting out of there. And I'm going to keep doing it over and over again, so long as you two keep dragging me down there, no matter how many cute little tricks you and the rest of the peanut gallery try to use. So I suggest you take a tip from all the times I've made you look like complete assholes and learn to mind your own business. Besides, Hell isn't even controlled by you anymore. Yahweh saw to that, didn't it?"

Remiel's eyes narrowed fiercely at the memory of his own temporary damnation. However, the narrowed eyes soon gave way to the most malicious grin that the angel could muster. "And the First of the Fallen saw to your damnation, didn't he?" Remiel said both subtly and sadistically. "Lucifer allowed the demons under him to torment the sinners, but the First has always taken special delight in torturing those he particularly dislikes, including those who have tried to assault him in the past. I can only imagine that he will take time out of his busy schedule to spend some quality time with you."

Envy's eyes shot wide, and it took all of his self-control not to tremble violently at the thoughts of his experiences with the First, he whose wings are the dominion of locusts, he whose soul is the weeping of children, may we rejoice in his liturgy of heresy, amen. Envy did his best to regain his self-composure, and he did a pretty good job at it.

"Again, I'd highly recommend you fuck off unless you want a rumble," Envy sneered. "Even if you do drag me to see... to Hell, I'll kick and punch my way all the way there. You sure you want to risk your pretty boy faces over something that isn't even your business?"

"Your business is our own, Envy," Remiel replied calmly enough. "Did you forget that when you're prisoner of the infernal planes, everything you are and were belong to us, the servants of YHWH?"

"Yeah, I'll bet you would love to get me to 'belong' to you," Envy grinned with devious glee. "But sorry, no, I don't swing that way. I prefer killing people instead."

"What were you doing down here with the human death god?" Remiel questioned him.

"Needed a break," Envy said nonchalantly, now crossing his arms behind his head. "Needed to clear my mind. Figured I'd come to this godforsaken shithole. Meditate. Contemplate. Eviscerate. That kind of thing."

"You're plotting something again, aren't you, homunculus?" Remiel said, his face darkening. "We had hoped that Hell would have tamed you of your wicked ways and turned you repentant. But no, you're still the same malicious, selfish little thug that you were the day you killed your own father, the same sin among countless others that sent you to the depths-"

"No, the reason that I was sent to your goddamn 'depths' is because I was brought back to life by my son of a bitch father AND THEN FUCKING ABANDONED!" Envy snarled abruptly, his arms becoming rigid, one hand pointed stiffly at his two interceptors, his face morphing from that of a jocular imp to that of a full-fledged, furious demon. "Now, why don't you go fuck off before I decide to castrate you with your own teeth?"

"Predictable as always," Remiel said, not looking very impressed, as if he had seen Envy become this enraged before on many occasions. "You should have been named 'Wrath' instead of the boy. There's enough of it in you to rile you up each and every single time I mention Van Hohenheim."

"You're pushing it, you little androgynous shit," Envy growled, trying to calm himself down and regain his usual cocky attitude without much success, missing the irony of his insult entirely. "How would you like to feel something shoved into your ass for once? Like my foot!"

"Oh, you needn't worry yourself about that, Envy," Remiel said. "We have not come here to quarrel with you."

"Heh, smartest thing you've said all day," Envy said, his grin starting to return, cold and sadistic humor reappearing within his warped personality. "Why don't you follow that up with the equally intelligent decision of shoving off before I-"

"I've come to quarrel with you, you pineapple-haired freak," a coarse voice croaked from behind Envy's ears.

Envy spun around, eyes opened wide in shock and alarm, unable to believe that anyone had gotten the drop on him. "What the hell do you-" Envy started.

Envy didn't get far. He was interrupted, and the form of the retort was a loud, hoarse, and angry _caw._ The bird call was followed by a diminutive but undeniably frightening black shape (A bird? Envy thought before the talons went to war with his head) flying upon Envy's face, mercilessly scratching, pecking, and ravaging him. Envy screamed in astonishment, fury, and agony as the black bird went to work, quickly and efficiently delivering small forms of damage in such large quantities that forgave his small stature.

"YOU SON OF A GODDAMN BITCH GET THE FUCK OFFA ME!" Envy screamed, doing his best to fend off his antagonist to no avail. The homunculus tried to grab a hold of the bird of prey attacking him, but it evaded his hands with remarkable speed and agility, continuing to scratch and tear at his face with talons that felt like barbed wire being whipped across his head.

Eventually, the bird managed to peck at Envy's eye, resulting in white matter and red blood flowing from the wound; Envy released a scream that exuded so much agony and hatred that both Remiel and Duma could not help but shudder. Still, the bird continued tenaciously at Envy despite his ear-splitting cried, frenetic hand swatting, and involuntary spurting of ocular fluids.

Finally, the bird clutched its beak around Envy's entire eye, and, with an audible _Pop! _ tore the entire thing out, fovea, retinal, hyaloid canal and all.

"NO!" Envy screamed. He successfully swatted the bird away, but the damage had already been done. He stumbled around drunkenly, one hand clamped to his now empty socket, bellowing a litany of raw, burning bewilderment, suffering, and loathing. "YOU FUCKING SHIT, YOU FUCKING BASTARD, I'LL KILL YOU, I'LL KILL YOU ALL, SEE IF I DON'T-"

"Hey, Pacino," a new, gruff voice said from behind Envy. "Do me a favor and turn around, why dont'cha?"

Envy spun around, ready to rip out the throat of whoever this new bastard was, who thought it a fine, grand idea to go pissing about with the infuriated homunculus. After all, it was now official: this was no longer some petty schoolboy fight, but outright, bloody, no-holds-barred war and some asshole or another was going to pay for it in fucking full-

This was the last thing Envy thought before he saw an anthropomorphic figure with a pumpkin head, white gloves, a red bow tie, and blue-collar work overalls swing a flattened shovel into his face. Then, with the exception of a couple of white stars, Envy wondered who turned off all the lights in the room.

"Ugh, this actually makes me miss cleaning up the castle," Merv Pumpkinhead sighed. "I mean, we get some pretty weird Doom Patrol stuff around here occasionally, but this one just takes the case." Merv turned toward Remiel and Duma. "So what the hell is he anyway? And more to the point, what kind of crazy shit's been happening before me and Matthew came?"

"All I know is when I came here, this loony was getting into it with Remiel, until he mentioned his father," Matthew the raven said, landing on Merv's shoulders. He looked down at Envy with black, gleaming eyes that suggested some form of pity. "Then he began losing it, and I took that as my cue to make my stage entrance."

"We've only arrived some time ago," Remiel said, "but are of the opinion that this homunculus you see before you, this artificial creature by the name of Envy, has been instrumental in a plot to pit the Kira against his son. If this continues further-"

"Whoa, whoa, hang on there, cowboy," Matthew interrupted. "What do you mean, 'the' Kira? I thought Kira was just some asshole from Japan that's been pissing off the higher heads. You know, that, what's his name, that Yagami guy."

Remiel sighed. "Kira had started out as an individual," Remiel said, "But it would appear that with the advent of this patricidal scheme, war is to come between the father and son for the title of 'Kira'."

"You mean we're gonna get more of these weirdos?" Matthew asked. "Man, Earth's got it real bad, huh?"

"Um, isn't this guy supposed to be some sort of hellspawn or somethin'?" Merv asked.

"He is a detainee of the nether realms, yes," Remiel answered.

Merv scratched his head in confusion. "Well, don't you guys have that weird Freudian thing where people actually subconsciously want to go to Hell to atone for their sins or whatever, and they can pretty much leave whenever they want?"

"That's been the general policy," Remiel said. He glared down darkly at Envy. "Unfortunately, this one has made things more difficult than that. Not only does he not regret a single transgression he's ever committed, but the thought of his father among the saints and the seraphim has sustained, if not exacerbated, his insubordinate and destructive behavior. We fear that this one will not rest until he has managed to drag his father down into Hell with him."

"Jeez, talk about fucked-up father-son relationships..." Merv muttered, taking out a cigar from out of one of his overall's pockets. Envy groaned groggily, prompting to Merv to sigh in resignation, drop his cigar, and then bash the shovel into the homunculus' ribs three more times. Matthew flew off of Merv's shoulders and landed on a nearby rock.

"Where is your master?" Remiel asked. "He's usually the one to take the initiative in purging the Dreaming of intruders,"

"You kiddin' me?" Marv snorted. "The boss and the rest of his siblings have been working overtime since Kira. You know how many people dream that Kira's gonna kill 'em? Even the kids nowadays are worryin' that Kira's gonna get 'em for stealing candy or for playing Grand Theft Auto or whatever it is they do today."

"Yeah, that, and it's only been a few years since the new boss was put into control, you know," Matthew chimed in. "He's still learning the ropes about all of this crazy fantasy Lord of the Rings stuff. You know that burnt freak, Freddy Kruger? The boss almost didn't make it out of that one. We had to ask Odin and Thor for-" Matthew broke off, glancing at the silent necrotic walls, the corpse of the dragon, and the carcass of the Kira demon. "Nice. Where the hell are we? Some sick serial killer's dream? Christ, you wouldn't believe some of the twisted stuff we found inside that Jason Voorhees guy."

"That's what we were hoping he would tell us," Remiel said, glancing resentfully at Envy, who was still clutching his ribs and struggling to catch his breath. "Again, we believe the homunculus has somehow conspired some insidious plot using the power of the Dreaming after he escaped from Perdition. We have evidence to believe that his partner in crime is the demon Legion. However, Legion's physiology and psychology are so complex that no one except the All-Father is sure of who or what he is. We do know, however, that he has several aliases: Walter O' Dim, The Poison Man, Marten Broadcloak, Randall Flagg-"

"That guy from The Stand?" Merv asked, nonchalantly smoking and puffing out rings of smoke.

"Excuse me?" Remiel asked, sounding a little confused.

"Yeah, you know, that giant-ass book by Stephen King?" Merv continued, still smoking as if he wasn't in a cave where there were walls made out of human flesh. "Yeah, me, I don't read a lot, you know? More of a man of action like Matthew there. But hey, that book was pretty damn good if you ask me. Long as hell but still good. And that King guy? Not a bad writer. He's one of the few that doesn't piss me off by trying to show me how much he knows, a regular joe, you know? Shit, even his dreams are normal, which is kind of weird. That Jerry Falwell guy, on the other hand-"

Though still keeping his silence, Duma's eyes grew considerably wider. Remiel's face grew cloudy. "Mervyn, are you saying that this Flagg is a fictional character?"

"Well, uh, yeah," Merv said, scratching the top of his pumpkin head. "I mean, you guys already knew that didn't you?"

"No, we did not," Remiel said, becoming increasingly worried as his mind raced through what all these details added up to. "But, Mervyn, if what you say is true, then this unreal man could only exist as a concept and not as a tangible being. And if that's the case, then how was he able to penetrate the barriers of the Creation and enter the Dreaming undetected for so long? Unless-" Remiel gasped and his eyes shot wide open. "No! That can't be! It's-"

A barrage of laughs drowned in gasoline erupted from Envy. He held on to his ribs as he howled with diabolic glee, dragging himself to his feet on shaky legs, using one shaking finger to point at the group.

His single eye glinted with the sharpness of diamonds and knives.

"It's too late, you goddamn neanderthals!" Envy laughed on wobbly legs, blood dripping from his torn eye. "He's ours now! We've won! We've already fucking won!"

"And won't my baby brother be surprised!"

_You wish now that our places had been exchanged, father... that I had died and Boromir had lived._

_Yes... I wish that. _

_

* * *

_

"Dayman!" The actors on the TV sang. "Fighter of the Nightman! Champion of the sun! You're a master of karate and friendship for everyone!"

Ryuk cackled at the humans on the television while he lounged on the black leather couch in the living room. God, this show was great! Ryuk had been watching a marathon of it while eating scores of apples, and, if he had had a bladder, he may have very well pissed his pants (Not that I have pants, Ryuk thought) laughing wildly. What was the show called again? Its... Its Always... Its Always Sunny In... Oh well, fuck it, it probably didn't matter. What did matter was that Ryuk had managed to finally figure out Teru's Netflix password and then continued to watching all the fun movies and shows that Teru said were "beneath" him, the morose little prick.

Ryuk grabbed a blunt off of the coffee table, inhaled, exhaled, and then devoured another nearby apple. Ah, it had been such a great day! Teru had finally acquiesced to his doctor's orders and ordered a package of medical marijuana for "stress-related medical problems" ("Teru, you're so tense that I could use your ass as a nut cracker," the doctor casually told an unamused Teru while Ryuk roared with laughter). Despite Teru's threats to beat Ryuk with a sock full of rocks if he even came inches within the chronic, Ryuk had proceeded to smoke about half of the eight pounds of ganja. The stuff was pretty strong; for about an hour, Ryuk told himself that he should get off the couch and do something other than smoke mary jane and consume apples, but eventually the Playstation 3 and the games that Ryuk had stolen proved to be addicting, and Ryuk spent most of the day laughing while he made that thing from Predator crack open human and alien spines. And now this great show to top it all off! Yes sir, today couldn't get much better!

"Mephistopheles," a granite voice intoned from the adjacent hallway.

But it could get much worse.

"OK, now, I know you're probably gonna get angry at me and all that because I smoked, like, most of your cryptonite, but I've been, um, suffering, like, a lot of angst lately so-" Ryuk began.

Then Ryuk saw what was in the hallway, and what he saw made him nearly gape in amazement and terror.

Before, when Ryuk had first heard Teru's declaration against Kira and had then seen his aura turn bloody red... well, Ryuk had simply thought that that was that. The beginning of the end. The climax. The endgame. Teru versus Light, the fight that the whole world would have wanted to have seen if they knew what was at stake. Ryuk had even been looking forward to the idea of Teru smashing Light's face into a porcelain sink and of Light shoving a grenade into Teru's mouth, but became gravely disappointed to see that Teru had immediately tucked his tail in between his legs. Teru defended his procrastination by saying that he needed to "think the matter over", but it was clear to Ryuk that Teru was nothing more than a dog who could snarl and bark with the best of them, but couldn't bite for the life of him.

Only... now the exact opposite seemed to be case.

Teru stood calmly and naked in the hallway, not seeming to mind that his roommate should catch him in his birthday suit. He stood straighter than before and not of his usual tenseness but out of what looked to be a newfound sense of pride. Gone was the clenching of the hands, the gritting of the teeth, the narrowing of the eyes. These traits had died with Teru, and a cool, dark, and callous intelligence had been reborn with him. Teru stared at Ryuk with what Ryuk could not help but think that it was a gaze of disdain and pity, the kind of look a man would give to a rat before he let the cat out of the cage to devour it. But this, Teru and his posture that suggested indestructibility, that wasn't even the worst of it...

Teru's aura had turned completely black.

No... it wasn't enough to say that it was black. It wasn't, say, the black of a car. It wasn't the black of the PS3 that Ryuk had just stolen. And it certainly wasn't the black of a human either, like in that awesome Hustle and Flow movie he had seen earlier.

No, this was another black entirely.

Hell, it wasn't even a color.

It was the absence of color.

It was the absence of light.

_These eyes will deceive you, they will destroy you. They will take from you, your innocence, your pride, and eventually your soul. These eyes do not see what you and I see. Behind these eyes one finds only blackness, the absence of light. These are of a psychopath. _

"It's time, Mephisto," Teru said, his voice a calm, deadly whisper.

"...time?" Ryuk asked, practically hypnotized by Teru's new presence, drawn in by that onyx aura and those daemonic eyes, not even aware that he had incorrectly called him by that strange, obscure name again. "Time for what?"

The aura shifted itself briefly, and just for a moment, just for a second, Ryuk thought that he saw the aura form something very distinct on top of Teru's head.

He thought he saw a black crown.

And on either side of that crown, Ryuk thought that he saw two long, lean, and curved horns arching from Teru's skull.

"It's time to begin Operation Kira Rising," The Dark Man said.

_God be with you, Frank._

_Sometimes I'd like to get my hands on God. _

* * *

**DAYS LATER**

The weather was beyond terrible as Teru and Ryuk made their way down the streets of downtown Tokyo. It rained as if God was attempting to punish all of Japan, if not the world, and the clouds spread themselves out like a gray, bleak mesh, obstructing the sky, negating all chances of sunlight, and imposing an unnatural and significant weight on all of those who were forced to endure the incredible dreariness of it all.

Teru had decided to don a disguise for the day; the day's mission was a fragile one, and he couldn't risk being noticed or recognized. Over his trademark black suit, pants, and tie, Teru wore a leather black trenchcoat; perhaps it was not the most original of attire choices, but that was the great thing about black: it went well with everything. Teru had no umbrella; he decided instead to wear an old black fedora hat with a red band, something he hadn't worn in years. As a final touch, Teru bought a package of movie FX and make-up materials. With these, he created four light pink plastic scars and placed them on his neck. If anyone happened to glance at him on the streets, they would assume that he was some thug who had gotten into one fight too many and received a slash from a switchblade, broken bottle, or whatever it was that the small-time yakuza and street urchins were using these days. Either way, people wouldn't bother him, and that was good, as Teru was not in the mood to even speak with anyone today besides the object of his mission (though he had to admit that his mood would have allowed him to indulge, if he had the time, in the practice of forcing some wayward sinner to swallow a batch of rusty nails).

At soon as this thought ended, the rain intensified to nearly tsunami levels. "Christ, the weather's been really shitty lately, huh?" Ryuk murmured.

"Are you sure that he's gone, Ryuk?" Teru asked, not bothering to reply to Ryuk's obvious observation.

Teru didn't answer Ryuk's ascertainment, but yes, the weather had been continually deplorable these past few weeks. The onslaught of relentless rain heightened the levels of sewer water in the gutters, and for a while Teru had prayed that the rain would wash all of the people in the world, wash away their black sins and their decrepit souls. And if this could not occur, then Teru had prayed that the rain would, at the very least, drown the world and all of its sorrows, submerge the human vermin with their snuff films and their slave trades until humanity could finally be redeemed through death. But neither of these two scenarios occurred, and the weather proved to Teru what he already knew deep down in his heart, that beneath the disguise of human civilization there was a furious virus running rampant, spreading its disease and contagion like a crack dealer gone mad. There was only the world's cancer here, and there was no salvation in sight, bolstering Teru's belief that Kira had become lax, had become ineffectual, had no longer the nerve nor the fortitude to hold his creations' heads under the filthy gutter stew until it ceased to writhe and kick in futile, panicked gestures and-

"Uh, yeah, no, he's still over at one of those hotels with the rest of the Ghostbusters or whatever the hell they're called," Ryuk warily said, interrupting Teru's train of thought. The bastard was getting creepier day by day, and Ryuk's constant self-reminders that Teru was only a human, that the self-absorbed psychopath couldn't do jack crap to a reaper like himself did little, if anything, to diminish his sense of unease. Mercifully, Teru's aura, while still black as the ace of spades, had "calmed down" so to speak, reduced to a reasonably sized, flickering shroud. All the same, Ryuk flew some inches further away from Teru than he was accustomed to. And in any other scenario, Ryuk would have thought Teru's disguise to be kind of cool (if not anachronistic), but given the circumstances and the unrelenting weather, Teru looked more or less look the kind of hard boiled, die hard motherfucker who would start pistol whipping fools in the face just for looking at him funny.

"He should be there for like another few days. You know how those traps are still happenin' in the U.S. even though that Jigsaw guy kicked the bucket?" Ryuk asked. Teru stiffened and eyed Ryuk with a look that said 'You better not even think about fucking with me right now'; Ryuk subtly distanced himself even further, "Yeah, well, Light's cooked up some bullshit story about how Kira might have become the next Jigsaw or whatever. Everyone but L is buyin' it, but L's goin' along with it anyway just so he doesn't look like a complete asshole. Or at least that's how Light told it to me." Ryuk paused. "So what's James Cagney like in real life?" He joking asked, trying to break the ice.

"And you are absolutely sure that she's alone?" Teru asked, ignoring the joke, moving his glance back in front of him, enabling Ryuk to feel relieved, like a great weight had been taken off his shoulders. The two turned a corner, walked a few more steps among a row of well-kept houses, the kind that belonged to the upper middle class from the looks of things. "That she won't be receiving any visitors for the next few days? That she'll have no contact with Yagami whatsoever?"

"I'm positive," Ryuk said as the two approached one of the houses, climbed the porch steps, and then approached the door. "I'm tellin' you, you shoulda seen the fit she made when Light told her that she was going to have to be on her own for a week or two. It took, like, a promised vacation to Paris and three hours of sex before he could get her to agree not to kill everyone in, uh, MI6."

"I think the name you're looking for is Kira Task Force," Teru said, stopping before the door and ringing the door bell. "In any event, things are now ready for the operation."

"You know, I never asked you this before," Ryuk said, the sound of approaching footsteps on the other side of the door becoming gradually louder, "but what exactly do you want her for?"

"Proverbs 16:18," Teru responded.

"Eh?" Ryuk asked.

"Pride goeth before destruction," Teru said in English, "and a haughty spirit before a fall".

The door opened.

A beautiful young woman with blond hair, dark yellow eyes, a petite body, and a black, frilly gothic blouse answered the door. "Hi! Can I help-" She began to chirp before she saw Ryuk. The girlish, charming smile fell off her face, temporarily replaced with a confused, quizzical look before she noticed a man who, though radically distinct and difference in appearance, somehow and someway reminded her vividly of her own beau.

"Hello, Miss Amane," Teru said, courteously taking off his hat. The rain intensified behind him; the bleak gray and black of the weather contrasted sharply with the red band of his fedora, with the light pink of his scars, and with the sharp, vivid color of his eyes. "I've come to talk to you about something very important."

"I've come to talk to you about Light Yagami."

_Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, to love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!_

* * *

Hooray! Another infuriatingly vague cliffhanger!

But you know, during my time writing _I Can't Live In A World Without Light_, I've come to do some thinking. I've thought about Misa and why she's so infatuated with Light. I've thought about Light and the possibility that maybe he's not completely evil, that maybe there's a faint glimmer of good inside of him. Mostly, I thought about why Eddie Murphy's career took a downturn following the sighting of him with that tranny. I ain't got nothing against trannies; no tranny ever called me a nerfherder. And Murphy gave us _Coming To America, _you ungrateful bastards!What you got against Eddie Murphy and trannies, America?

But I digress. L has been on my mind recently, specifically how he stays so skinny even after eating the standard American diet of ice cream and pancakes on a stick. Thus, I now bring you...

OMAKE!

**Comic 1: Pleasantly Plump**

Panel 1: Misa, Light, and L are all sitting on the couch, eating lunch. Misa's eating salad, Light's eating a hamburger, and L's eating a big slice of chocolate cake.

Panel 2: A question mark appears over Misa. She's actually thinking!

Panel 3: Close-up on Misa: Misa: "Ryuzaki, all we ever see you eat are sweets. How do you stay so skinny?"

Panel 4: Close-up on L: L: "Oh, well, I think a lot, and that prevents me from gaining weight."

Panel 5: Regular shot, showing everyone on the couch. Light looks skeptical: Light: "Do you seriously expect us to believe that?"

Panel 6: Bathroom. We see L sticking his finger down his throat and puke erupting. The shower is turned on in the background to drown out the noises of his retching. L: "I'm so fat! BLARG!"

Panel 7: Regular shot, back to the couch. L: "Well, what else could be the reason?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A recent review of "I Can't Live In A World Without Light" accused me, the author, of trying to use the story to boast of my "intellect". I'm putting the word "intellect" in quotation marks because, quite frankly, what I do know is a piss in the bucket compared to what many other individuals (Alan Moore, Arthur C. Clarke, _Mumia_ Abu-Jamal, insert other super smart people here) know, a virtual sea of brilliance, creativity, and knowledge. Let me also stress that "World Without Light" is undoubtedly the most challenging story I've ever attempted to write, not just because of its length (I honestly had no idea it was going to take so long, and I'm not even done yet!), but because I've had to take almost everything I know and insert it into the text. "World Without Light" also marks the first time that I've actually done research for the purposes of my story although I am well aware that when I do publish "original" stories, this will need to become the norm. And it's not like it's drudgery either; via associative learning, I'm able to better remember what I research because its connected to my story, something I actually give a damn about (Which I guess explains why I never really paid attention in my high schools physics and statistics classes in addition to my inability to absorb information that doesn't involve ninjas on motorcycles fighting zombies in a post-apocalyptic world).

In summation, it would probably take L, Light, and/or Teru only four minutes to convince me that shooting a shotgun at a moving semi-gas canister vehicle would be a good idea.

* * *

**WORKS CITED:**

Richard II (Play)

Bride of Frankenstein (Movie)

From Hell (Graphic Novel)

Aqua Teen Hunger Force (TV Program)

Blade Runner (Novel/Movie)

The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Novel/Movie)

Halloween 2007 (Movie Remake)

Punisher: War Zone (Movie)

Venus and Adonis (Narrative Poem)


End file.
